Redefining your identity

You are more than what you do

In a previous post, Finding Worth in Your Role, I opened up about the years I spent attaching my identity to my performance and persona as a soccer player. That reflection was the what—the story of realizing how long I’d tied my value to playing time, stats, and external praise. It was the moment I saw I could no longer wrap my identity in what I did if I wanted to make an impact.

This post is the how.

How I began to untangle my self-worth from the game I’ve played my entire life. How, in losing the player I thought I had to be from such a young age, I’ve started growing into the person I was always meant to become.

I started playing soccer when I was just 3 years old. Growing up, my talents and work ethic kept me at the top of the soccer world. I was a forward who was fast, fit, and could score goals. Coaches took notice at camps and tournaments as I spent my weekends at regional events, trained with national team caliber players, and flew around the country to showcase what I hoped would carry me even further.

As the competition grew tougher and the stakes higher, my results tended to follow suit. Talent and effort almost always equaled playing time and praise.

Soccer didn’t just become something I did, it became who I was. I was a soccer player.

By the time I was 14, I had committed to Clemson. The rest of high school, I felt like I was only known as “the girl going to Clemson.” I took pride in how hard I had worked to earn that status. But I also quietly fed off the confidence boost that came with being seen as someone who had already ‘made it'.’ That affirmation felt like proof that I was enough.

Over time, that need for validation seeped into how I viewed myself and my performance. Stats and highlights became not just measurements of success, but measures of worth. If I had a good game, the rest of the day felt light and easy. If I didn’t? I spiraled. I'd cancel plans, snap at my family, and stew in frustration. I began to only enjoy the game if it was going well.

But back then, the “bad” days were few and far between. My self-esteem clung tightly to output—and for a while, it worked.

The first cracks in that identity didn’t come in college, they came earlier.

I suffered an injury in high school that sidelined me for months. It was the first time in my life that I physically couldn’t play. Suddenly, the part of me that felt valuable—the athlete, the competitor, the one who was always performing—was just... gone. I didn’t know what to do with myself, and I didn’t know how to do the work either. I assumed once I was healthy again, I’d pick up where I left off, and the feeling would go away.

It didn’t. Not fully. And it resurfaced in a bigger way when I got to college. Except this time, I could play, but still, I couldn’t rely on soccer to determine who I was anymore.

When I stepped onto Clemson's campus, it only took a week to realize this wouldn’t be like high school. Everyone here was also known for what I thought was my defining feature—being talented enough to play at Clemson. Everyone around me had also always started, always scored, always stood out. I still had my work ethic, but I wasn’t at the top of the totem pole anymore.

My freshman and sophomore year, I struggled. On the field, I recorded a start here and there, got some minutes in most games, didn’t play at all in a few, and created a handful of goals and assists. For most, this is the reality of transitioning from high school to college athletics. But it was a reality I wasn’t ready for.

I was so caught up in the numbers that I wasn’t present during games. I was living in my head. I was quiet when I was on the bench. Then became a ball of pressure when I eventually did get on the field, thinking I had to play my heart out in order to prove to myself, my team, and people watching that I was good enough. The result? I often underperformed, reinforcing the very doubts I was trying to erase.

Game after game, the cycle repeated: frustration, pressure, disappointment. I stopped learning from the sideline. I stopped encouraging my teammates. I stopped being someone people could lean on.

Without consistent minutes or visible contributions, the identity I’d built for years around being a soccer player began to crumble. And when that identity fell apart, so did my mental health and relationships.

I found myself experiencing the same feelings I had when I was injured—disconnected, unsure of my place, and questioning who I was without the game.

I became selfish. I believed I only deserved to feel proud if I played a visible, measurable role in the team’s success. I wasn’t playing for the grit, competition, or my team anymore, I was playing for approval. I’d spent so long depending on external markers to feel good about myself that when those markers disappeared, I had no idea who I was.

I thought I was letting my team down by not tangibly impacting. But really? I let them down by not being me.

Junior year, something had to change. I was at my dream school, but I was letting my need for validation write the story. And it was keeping me from making the most of my time at Clemson.

I couldn’t keep tying my self-worth to my stats. I couldn’t rely on being a soccer player to determine who I thought I was.

I had to untangle who I am from what I do.

Because when you only know yourself by your label, you lose yourself when the label shifts. So I started searching. For the part of me that was steady even when everything else changed. I felt all the feelings. I opened up to close friends and my family. I leaned on mentors and asked for help. My goal wasn’t to play better, it was to feel whole. I had to find me.

Not the soccer player. Not the stats. Not the starter. I had to strip away the layers and years of expectations to get back to the core. I needed to redefine my identity.

Day by day, that clarity helped me set new goals—ones rooted in character, not performance. I stopped chasing old versions of myself and started embracing who I was becoming.

I was still going to be a student-athlete at Clemson. Soccer wasn’t something I could or wanted to walk away from. But I knew I had to start seeing it differently. If I was going to stop tying my worth to my performance and start consistently showing up, I had to shift how I viewed the game and expand how I saw myself beyond it. I needed to explore what I truly wanted out of life, this experience, and who I was at my core.

It took time, honesty, and a lot of trial and error. But here are some of the things that helped me start feeling like more than just an athlete—and they might help you too:

Rewrite your why for playing

• Your why cannot be contingent on performance. If your reason for playing is tied only to stats, starting spots, or praise, you’ll always be chasing a moving target—and your confidence will rise and fall with every game, and disappear with setbacks like injury. It has to stand strong even on the hard days. Play with joy, gratitude, and purpose—no matter your role. For me, my why is helping the people around me reach their highest potential. This shift gives every day meaning and allows me to make an impact wherever I’m standing.

Try new hobbies—not to get good at them, but just to enjoy them.

• Try yoga, go on walks, read more books, start volunteering, journal, paint, learn a new language. Explore what grounds you outside of competition. I spent so long chasing excellence and productivity that I forgot how to do things just for fun. Find out how YOU like to spend your time.

Pour into your people

• Lean on the support system around you. Let them in. Appreciate the relationships that give you strength. When I felt lost, my people helped remind me who I was beyond the field. The more I leaned into love, service, and connection, the more I found purpose again. I realized that it was the people all along that make this experience so special.

Say yes to new experiences

• Get involved with school groups, internships, clubs, or just meet new people. For so long, soccer consumed all of me. But when I gave myself permission to try new things, to explore career interests, make friends outside of my sport, say yes to things that had nothing to do with athletics—I realized how much life I was missing. Those experiences helped me see myself as more than just a player and gave me the confidence to dream bigger about who I could become. That’s what the student-athlete experience is really about.

Focus on what you can control

• When I stopped obsessing over what I couldn’t control, like minutes or recognition, I finally had the energy to focus on what I could: my attitude, my effort, and how I treated people. Strive to be a championship teammate.

Eventually, soccer was no longer who I was. It was just something I did. Something that helped shape me, and that I enjoyed, but no longer controlled me. Inevitable bad days on the field no longer defined me, and statistics became a distant factor compared to the incredible feeling of being immersed into the team. I got to determine who TF I was and who I wanted to be.

This was HARD. When you've spent so many years doing something, it's hard not to feel like it’s who you are. Letting go of that identity was one of the toughest things I’ve ever done. But it was also necessary.

Because to truly find out who I was and what I wanted, I had to let go of who I thought I had to be.

And through this time, here’s what I learned:

You are more than what you do.

You are your values, your voice, your beliefs, your effort, your strength on the hard days. You are who you are becoming. You are what you love when no one’s grading you. You are how you show up when no one’s watching. You are how you treat people, how you lead, how you leave others better than you found them.

Real identity isn’t what shows up on paper. It’s who you are when no one’s clapping. It’s the version of you that exists even if the title disappears. And it’s way more powerful than any label you’ll ever hold.

We live in a world that loves titles. We hand out identity labels like badges of honor—starter, CEO, intern, captain, All-American. And when we achieve them, they feel good. But when we lose them, we can lose ourselves. Because the problem isn’t the titles, it’s believing that without them, we’re less valuable.

It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that the "doing" is what makes us who we are. But real identity is rooted in being—it’s in your character, your relationships, your choices when no one’s watching.

When you know who you are at your core, the roles you fill become just that—roles. Your sport, your job, your accomplishments become parts of your story, but not the whole story. And when those roles change, you don’t crumble because you know your value isn’t tied to them.

What you do reflects your values—but it’s not your whole identity. That’s the difference.

You are not your title. You never were. And the sooner you can detach your worth from external proof, the sooner you’ll uncover a kind of confidence and happiness that doesn’t shake when the game ends or the results don’t go your way. Because real identity isn’t earned. It’s remembered. It’s who you’ve been all along, underneath the pressure to be impressive.

Once I found that truth, I fell in love with life again. I even fell in love with soccer again. I had more fun. My gratitude increased ten-fold. I got intentional with my time, my relationships, and how I showed up. I became a better teammate, daughter, sister, and friend.

And ironically? I started playing better. That’s not the point—but it’s a funny thing that happens when pressure no longer runs the show.

Maybe you’ve also felt like your value depends on your title or what you achieve. You are not alone. But I’m here to tell you that you don’t have to stay stuck there.

Start redefining your identity.

Strip away the roles, the stats, the labels. Let go of the belief that you are only what you do. And get curious about who you actually are.

Who are you when no one’s watching? What kind of person do you want to be when the scoreboard isn’t in your favor? What lights you up when achievement isn’t the goal? How do you truly like to spend your time?

This won’t be easy. Letting go of the identity you’ve worn for years takes time and courage. I still catch myself slipping into old patterns. But hard doesn’t mean impossible. Every time you choose growth over comfort, you become more grounded—someone whose worth doesn’t rise and fall with performance, but stays steady, strong, and deeply rooted in who you are.

Because showing up won’t come from chasing the version of yourself the world applauds. It’ll come from becoming the version of yourself you’re proud to wake up as and discover every day.

So ask, reflect, and get curious about the person that exists beyond the accolades. And take the pressure off. Don’t let what you do determine who you are. Step into who you’re meant to be.

And as always…

MAKE YOUR IMPACT!