My first love was an avid tennis player, and I encouraged him to pursue his passion.
However, our connection left me with PTSD, and for sixteen years I was unable to watch the sport.
Last week, watching Serena Williams play in the US Open reignited my passion for the sport.
Something is being loaded.
Serena Williams won her maiden US Open in 1999 at age 17, while I was 19 years old. I was two years into my first serious relationship, completely in love with my high school sweetheart, and full of the naiveté that comes with youth and lack of life experience. Despite the fact that our relationship extended for an additional eight years, it peaked early on, and along with its great highs, there were also terrible lows.
When we eventually separated at age 25, I felt liberated. Nevertheless, my association with tennis was collateral damage. It served as a catalyst, and I never watched or participated in the sport again. Last week, on the final night of August, Serena’s surprise, passionate victory — after what was thought to be her final match — dragged me back into the sport. I tuned in for the first time in 16 years to watch the US Open.
Our relationship and tennis were intertwined like strings on a racket.
He was my entire world, whereas tennis is his. His entire existence focused on the sport; he excelled on the high school team and received a college scholarship, after which he almost turned professional. During our partnership, I incorporated tennis into my life. I would cheer from the sidelines throughout his games, competing with his manager-like mother for the title of biggest fan. I rode trains and trams and traveled great distances — primarily by myself — to observe him swing that racket. It was a magnificent sight.
However, his passion for tennis seeped over into our relationship and found other outlets. I did not realize the consequences of the emotional outbursts, ranting, and other poisonous behaviors until years later. In high school, the principal referred to us as “fire and fire,” implying that we were doomed to fail. At the time, I disregarded the remark as merely a reflection on the natural passion of our connection; nevertheless, I now recognize it as a warning.
Entering the world of tennis — his world — was comparable to observing a little more civilized gladiator ring. At his practices and matches, he exemplified every common tennis player stereotype: young men bursting with competitiveness, passion, unresolved anger, and inflated egos. My ex-boyfriend was one of them and exhibited many of these traits both on and off the court. Yes, he would throw his racket during play, as have many other players. Other times, he would punch the wall with the same ferocity during a fight.
During our senior year of high school, our relationship was at its most joyful, but beneath the surface, teenage jealousy and patterns of verbal abuse developed. I started to accept his treatment of me as something I deserved and began to accept his acts as usual. The last two years of high school were rife with public confrontations and verbal arguments.
Our college years together were even more turbulent. I was competing for his attention with both the university tennis team and new women. When he wasn’t ignoring me, I was battling off the aggressive jealousy that accompanied my attempts to explore my own independence.
Once, I ran into him at a pub while he claimed to be unwell at home; for once, instead of defending him, I went to another party. My buddies were incredulous when he tracked me down, found me, and violently took me out of the party.
Despite the fact that he rarely acknowledged it, tennis remained an integral element of our tattered love story. My support for him never wavered, and he always appeared to crave it. Occasionally, we would play together, but I typically ended up in tears.
After college, we remained together for an additional three years, but towards the end, nothing remained. At that point, I hardly ever saw him, and our high school glory days were long gone. When we split up, he called me constantly, and I’ll admit that at first I didn’t mind it. It made me feel wanted. However, as soon as I answered, the sense that he needed me suddenly ceased, as did the phone calls. It was about power more than love.
When I finally comprehended the terrible game in which I had become a reluctant participant, we ceased all communication. I also recognized about this time that I had never learned to separate my affections for him from my love for tennis.
Serena’s passion for the game prompted me to recall why I also like it.
Due to my connection, I suffered PTSD, which kept me away from the sport for all these years. Since our breakup, the sound of a swish of a racket or the thud of a tennis ball on the court brought back painful memories. Even in the wrong context, the word “love” could give me the chills.
I was enthralled by Serena’s stunning victory over No. 2 player Anett Kontaveit on August 31 night. I felt a burst of excitement for the game, similar to what I’d felt before the gloom of my relationship tainted my appreciation for it. Seeing her play in such a manner revived an interest in tennis in me that I hadn’t felt in nearly two decades.
I no longer considered the times I was reprimanded for not liking tennis enough or punished for asking too much of my lover; after all, his dedication to his skill took precedence, a fact I had reluctantly accepted. Something new transpired last week while viewing Serena. I was not inundated with negative memories. Every other time I’d attempted to watch tennis in recent years, anything as simple as the sound of players’ shoes shuffled on the ground made me shudder, but seeing her on the court rekindled the joy I once had for the sport.
Serena Williams played her longest match ever on Friday night against unseeded Australian opponent Ajla Tomljanovic. Even though Tomljanovic finally prevailed, Serena was the clear standout.
I’m a different woman than I was when I first watched Serena on the court; I’m blissfully married to my genuine love rather than my first love. As a freelance writer still discovering my voice’s full potential and a woman fighting to become a mother, these ideas of tenacity and never being too old resonate strongly with me.
The past week of Serena’s dedication has been an inspiration and a vital reminder to pursue the things in life that you desire. Despite my difficulties and self-doubt, I too am capable of overcoming them, because you never know when an unexpected victory will occur.