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I always dreamed of playing college sports. When I was given the chance to play at the collegiate level at a school that also aligned with my academic aspirations, I seized the opportunity. Academically, Lawrence has been incredible; however, on the athletic side lies a dark truth: the coach in whom I placed my trust not only damaged my self-esteem but also devastated my collegiate sports experience. During my time on the field, this coach mistreated the entire team consistently on a daily basis. They would weaponize mental health, abuse their authority and publicly shame other players in front of the whole team if they made a mistake. It became apparent that the coach harbored a personal vendetta against me, leading to treatment that, in my view, was markedly worse than the treatment any of my teammates experienced. There is an unspoken pact between a player and a coach which states that there will be trust, respect and a shared commitment to the team’s well-being. We as athletes entrust these individuals with our development, both on and off the field. My experience is of a broken pact; a stark failure in leadership and a betrayal that extends far beyond the scoreboard.
From the outset, there were some unsettling signs. In a team environment where tradition and seniority often hold weight, the seemingly simple act of assigning jersey numbers carries significance. Just before my second year, my coach casually handed off the number I believed was mine, which I had earned through my time and dedication, to another player. I remember texting the coach after the announcement was made about the jersey numbers and they brushed me off and said, “I tried to give everyone what they requested.” But it had always been the case that unless a different number was specifically requested, no one else’s number was handed off to another player. This small but significant act shattered any sense of belonging or respect I had for the program. That was the first moment I knew that my place on the team was insignificant to the coach.
This disregard for individual dignity escalated during a weight training session. The coach pulled me aside and wrongly accused me of failing a class. Instead of talking to me outside, they decided to have a personal conversation with me in the middle of the weight room. The coach’s loud and erroneous accusation, delivered in front of my teammates, demonstrated a shocking lack of professionalism and a willingness to shame a player without verifying the facts. It fostered an environment of fear and anxiety, especially within me, where the team’s trust in the coach’s judgment began to erode.
The summer before my sophomore year unveiled a troubling pattern of double standards and gaslighting orchestrated by my coach, who also served as the temporary Head of Residence Life. While many of my teammates, predominantly my same year, secured rooms in Hiett Hall, the standard summer residence for all students, for summer training, my repeated emails to Residence Life went unanswered, leaving me in housing limbo only weeks before our training camp. My eventual appeal to higher administrative powers, born out of necessity, was met not with understanding, but with the coach’s furious accusation that I was compromising their job, bizarrely suggesting that I should have contacted them directly despite months of ignored official communication. This blatant attempt to shift blame and rewrite the situation, coupled with my subsequent assignment to Plantz Hall while others enjoyed what I perceived to be preferential treatment, fostered a palpable sense of marginalization and shattered my expectation of equitable treatment within the team. This revealed in my coach a disturbing willingness to prioritize personal convenience over a player’s basic needs and then manipulate the narrative to avoid accountability.
However, these incidents pale in comparison to the coach’s abysmal handling of my injury. As a dedicated player, I pushed through increasing back pain during my sophomore year. Seeking guidance from the team trainers proved futile, as their resource and knowledge limitations prevented them from providing any meaningful treatment. Desperate for relief, I diligently communicated with the coach, seeking permission to consult a chiropractor. While initial approval was granted, the subsequent events revealed a shocking lack of empathy and a prioritization of on-field performance over my long-term health.
I set an appointment with the chiropractor and within five minutes of looking at my back, they told me I needed to book an appointment with urgent care – painting the picture that my back problem was far more severe than anyone anticipated. After communicating with my coach once again, they said it was okay to go to urgent care. The urgent care’s diagnosis: severe left-sided sciatica with acute bilateral lower back pain. My spinal plates were dangerously close to pressing on nerves. The doctors said they were surprised that I had continued to play with an injured back for the last two months, because they couldn’t imagine the amount of pain I was in. I was told in no uncertain terms that continuing to play could lead to permanent disability. Sharing this grave news with the coach, along with the doctor’s note and x-rays, should have elicited concern and support. Instead, I was met with anger and disbelief.
The coach’s reaction was not just disappointing; it was reprehensible. They lashed out in anger at my need to prioritize my health, accused me of lying about my injury and threatened to ruin mine and my parents’ lives for “questioning their authority.” My parents’ emails to the coach and Lawrence administration, seeking assistance for my injury, upset my coach because they were bringing the coach’s negligence to the attention of the Athletic Director. I involved my parents because the coach seemed to completely ignore my requests for help, and the trainer’s office had limited resources for back injuries. Following threats of “destroying my life” at Lawrence, the coach also threatened to kick me off the team. All of this because I sought out urgent care even though I constantly tried to communicate with them as much as possible. They only shared concerns for my seeking urgent care after learning what my injury was. There were acts of intimidation and emotional abuse. Their refusal to even look at the medical documentation spoke volumes about the coach’s priorities. My well-being was secondary to their desire to have me on the field, regardless of the potentially catastrophic consequences.
Fearful of the repercussions and clinging to the hope that presenting the doctor’s note would finally bring understanding, I continued to play through excruciating pain, even as I lost feeling in my legs and struggled with basic tasks. The coach, however, remained willfully ignorant, perpetuating a climate of distrust and prioritizing their authority over my physical safety. The double standards arose profoundly when I learned that another teammate of mine, who suffered an ACL injury, was treated with such respect and grace during their injury. They proclaimed to us that our coach offered up their house for them to stay in and also offered car rides to the doctor’s office. I was envious that other teammates were treated differently than I was. I fear I may never know the reason behind my treatment.
Despite the debilitating pain in my back that intensified through the offseason weightlifting program, I continued to play, driven by the coach’s expectations. By spring, even breathing became agony. I was forced to advocate for myself. I emailed the coach to request time off to prevent further injury and avoid hindering my teammates. The coach immediately demanded that I appear in person. I was forced to endure a painful walk to Alexander Gymnasium that same day, a Monday afternoon post-spring break. Despite my not having a vehicle at the time, the coach never offered any assistance, nor did they offer to meet me on campus. Entering their office, they accused me of being a “cancer on the team,” and expressed disappointment which prompted me to confront the litany of injustices, including the palpable anxiety their presence induced and the nonexistent relationship we shared. When I finally addressed the jersey number incident, they explained that I was “too big” for my original jersey, a deeply hurtful comment given my weight gain due to my necessarily limited activity. This was a flimsy excuse, considering the new jersey I ended up getting was the same size as it had always been. The coach’s dismissive acknowledgment that their words hurt me was the final blow. In that moment, I quit. As I walked away, I got a cold “good luck” and a chillingly insincere hope for my recovery; a stark confirmation that even months later, they never believed my pain and my truth. I will never forget that day because it was my mom’s birthday and I called her, tearfully declaring “Happy birthday, Mama. I finally quit the team.”
A coach I thought I could rely on subjected me to mistreatment and emotional abuse throughout my time on the team. I suffered from so many panic attacks that I lost count. There were times that the coach found out I was having a panic attack and decided to weaponize it against me and shame me. My panic attacks were caused because while I yearned for my coach’s approval, I deeply feared them. A coach’s responsibility extends far beyond strategy and skill development. It includes safeguarding the well-being of their players, fostering trust and acting with integrity. In my case, this coach failed spectacularly on all fronts, leaving me feeling betrayed by the very person who was supposed to guide and protect me. The scars of this experience will undoubtedly last longer than any physical ailment. While my college sports journey veered far from my initial hopes, I find solace in having chosen to leave before this coach’s actions could irrevocably stain my entire Lawrence experience and eventually my long-term wellbeing; though the emotional scars remain, I am navigating the healing process.