A week after I started to play tennis, I wanted to quit. I couldn’t hit a single ball. Each time I swung my racket and missed, a familiar feeling would bubble up inside me. It felt uncontrollable.
The best way I can describe it is this: You know when someone pretends to slap you, and you flinch away? You don’t even think about it. Your body just reacts. That’s what anger felt like. Before I had a chance to think, I would get upset.
That first week on the court, my emotions were all over the place. I felt like I would never get better.
I never could have guessed how much things would change for me in the next few years.
A week after I started playing tennis, I wanted to quit. I couldn’t hit a single ball. Each time I swung my racket and missed, a familiar feeling would bubble up inside me. It felt uncontrollable.
You know when someone pretends to slap you, and you flinch away? You don’t think about it. Your body just reacts. That’s what anger felt like. Before I had a chance to think, I would get mad.
That first week on the court, my emotions were all over the place. I felt like I would never get better.
I had no idea how much things would change for me in the next few years.
A week after I started playing tennis, I was already seriously considering quitting. I couldn’t hit a single ball. Each time I swung my racket and missed, a familiar feeling would bubble up inside me. It felt uncontrollable.
You know when someone pretends to slap you, and you automatically flinch? You don’t even think about it—your body simply reacts. I experienced anger in a similar way: Before I had a chance to think, I would get upset.
That first week on the court, my emotions were all over the place. I felt like I would never get better.
I never could have imagined how much things would change for me over the next few years.