In light of Mental Health Awareness Month, I feel it important to share with you all a brief but meaningful journey through the emotions of my last year as a DI softball player. As student athletes, we go through a plethora of emotions that often get suppressed by the hustle and bustle of our school work and athletic pursuits. As I've now retired from college ball, I'd like to share a piece of my story.

When I was 18 years old, I got my first tattoo. It was two rows of bright red softball seams around my left ankle. It signified my fervent dedication to the game, but was also a testament of my undying love for the sport, which had become my only focus outside of school. From the first day that I spontaneously raised my hand to pitch in a Little League game ten years ago, I can recall wanting to play competitive college softball. I became enamored with the game and spent hours watching and practicing. It became a part of who I was, and I reminded people every chance I got. I am honestly still the same way, but the difference now is that I have learned to find my self-worth and identity from within, rather than from softball.

Coming into college as a freshman, most people have ideas of what clubs they want to join and who they want to be and hang out with. Going into my freshman year of college, softball was the only concern on my mind. As a freshman at CSUN, I wanted to be a starting pitcher, to win our Big West Conference, to play postseason softball at the Women's College World Series, and to be an All-American. I accomplished the first two, along with a few others I added along the way including transferring to Cal, but I never reached the other two feats. Looking at it now, it sounds a bit disheartening, but I don't think it really is.

Over the course of these past four months, I have re-learned something that I already knew --  things do not always go according to plan. No matter how hard you try, they just don't. I've always considered myself to be a good pitcher-- sometimes even great-- but what about when I'm not? What do I do when the one thing that's given me my identity, my confidence, and my voice, is not there? I fight. I fought hard all year to improve my game physically, but more importantly--mentally. Unfortunately, I did not have the best start to my senior season, and as days turned into weeks, my performance improved slightly, but not to where I wanted it to be. Not to what I was used to. When I performed well, people would say "That's the old Zoë" or "That's the Zoë I know" and I began to feel inadequate in my performances.

The identity that I had always known and clung to, was suddenly nowhere to be found. This continued for weeks until one day I stopped allowing myself to degrade myself as a human based on my athletic performances. I am so much more than just a softball player. Reaching this point of realization, came with so many tears, frustrations and internal battles, but I am grateful for those because they made me grow. Softball has always been and will always be a part of me, but softball is not who I am.

With the announcement of the NCAA tournament bracket three weeks ago, my days as a collegiate softball player were and are officially over. And that is okay. I can't say that my senior season went the way I planned, or that my entire collegiate career went the way I planned. What I can say is that it went the way it was supposed to. Because for all of my shortcomings, I have so many blessings to take with me from my time here at Cal. During a very emotional and exciting senior day at Levine Fricke Field a few weeks ago, I truly saw, felt, and heard the impact that I've been able to have on my community. From the groups of girls chanting my name, to the one little girl who simply just wanted a hug, I felt joy. The fact that my presence, who I am and what I represent means something to people out there, is a feeling that is truly humbling.

I may not have reached every athletic venture I initially set out to, but I am so content in who I am and what I've been able to accomplish in my time as a collegiate scholar-athlete. This past season was by far my worst statistically, and it was disappointing to experience, but it brought me so much more than a high ERA and lots of losses. This season brought me strength. The strength to know that who I am does not lie within those beautifully chalked lines or that diamond. Who I am allows me to do what I do, to be the pitcher that I am. And yet, who I am is so much more than a pitcher. Who I am is enough. Regardless of any statistics, rankings, or otherwise, I am always enough.

Recently, I got my second tattoo on my left wrist. It is small, taking up only about four inches of my arm, but so powerful in meaning. Three words: I am enough. It signifies the struggles that I have endured in my four years of collegiate softball-- the games I have lost, the moments I blew, and the times where things just weren't going how I planned. I realized that it truly is not about the destination, but about the journey and finding yourself in that journey. No, I didn't reach every athletic goal that I had set out for myself, but along the way I found valuable insight and lessons that I will carry with me through my next journey(s).

People know me as Zoë Conley the pitcher (and maybe the blogger now also), but I also love to practice perfecting my homemade butternut squash soup recipe, and yo-yoing, and watching "Jeopardy!". There are some Zoës that even I don't yet know, but I'm excited to meet them now that softball is over. As this will be the last time I get to be with you all in this capacity, I'd like to leave you with a few words...

For anyone who may be struggling with a feeling of identity loss, be okay with those feelings and know that you are enough. Just you. Without your sport, or your job, your spouse, that shiny car, that flat stomach you've been working towards... You. Are. Enough. It's not always about the destination, but its always about the journey. When you feel down or incomplete, or that you have not met a goal, remember that you are enough.