This story initially appeared on Behind the Whistle, the official blog of the IWLCA, and is being republished with permission from the organization. Brittany Bill is a redshirt-sophomore on the James Madison women's lacrosse team who plays attack and defense.

EDITOR’S NOTE: This entry was written as James Madison University was engaged in raising awareness regarding mental health issues. The team supports Morgan’s Message, an organization that works to “eliminate the stigma surrounding mental health within the student-athlete community and equalize the treatment of physical and mental health in athletics,” the Rodgers family, who are JMU alumni, the lacrosse community, and athletes everywhere. The team wants everyone to know they are not alone. By sharing their stories, they hope to create courage and connection. Over the next few months, we will share additional entries focused on this topic, written by members of the JMU team. 

My story starts in the dark but ends in the light. I have heroes, both close and far, who helped me through my journey to diagnose and treat a rare, chronic, exercise-induced syndrome. I share my story to give other athletes hope and so they know they’re not alone, and so they know they can overcome their physical and mental challenges. I also share my story because the more I share it, the more athletes reach out to me from across the country to ask for help, because they too have the same condition I do: Chronic Exertional Compartment Syndrome (CECS) and Functional Popliteal Artery Entrapment Syndrome (FPAES). While once I felt all alone, now I know I’m not. 

I was a multi-sport athlete from a young age, and my passion ultimately led me to the JMU women’s lacrosse program. When I was young, I never stopped — I was the player that most athletes hated. I could be put on the line and run forever and fast. Whether it was 300-yard shuttles in lacrosse, or the infamous “gauntlet” in field hockey, I passed with flying colors. Early in high school, however, I began to feel a pain that felt like shin splints, so I “iced and rested,” like I was told to. I felt an odd, heavy and uncomfortable sensation from my ankles through my quads. I felt like I had bricks tied to my feet, my toes would go numb and my muscles burned.

As athletes, we’re taught to be mentally tough, to push through the pain and fight. I fought hard through my pain as it grew to excruciating levels. I recall crying during runs and practices but was able to hide the tears behind my goggles. As a varsity two-sport athlete, I’d start every game and play for about 12 minutes, but as time went on, my legs felt as if they’d explode, while also feeling numb until the point that I couldn't feel them anymore. I’d tell my mind to make them go, but eventually I’d collapse. It scared everyone — me, my family, my coaches and my teammates. Many times, I’d land in my coaches’ arms and cry. Every. Single. Day. 

My experience was physically exhausting and mentally draining. Over the course of three years in high school and then into college, I saw many doctors at top hospitals in big cities, from NYC to Philadelphia to Ohio, who tried to diagnose my condition. I missed enough high school to be at risk of not graduating because of all of my doctor appointments, despite my 3.9 GPA and achieving multiple athletic accolades. Each appointment left me with no answers, more pain and more fear.

Doctors were baffled. As if it wasn’t enough to be going through all of this, some doctors even made me question if it was all in my head. A top neurologist told me to “see a psychologist.” The head of a prominent vascular practice told me (at 17 years old) to “stop running.” A coach even once said to me, “Maybe you have cancer.” My experience continued to crush me.

Fast forward a few years, and I was finally diagnosed as having Chronic Exertional Compartment Syndrome, a condition that causes the muscles to expand as they should upon exercise, but the fascia around them does not expand with it. As this happens, blood flow is impinged and thus the numbness and collapsing. I was elated to sign up for surgery! However, after months of recovery, we learned it was unsuccessful. One step forward, two steps back, again. Crushed.

I entered my freshman year of college with butterflies and constant worry. What would my coaches think if I couldn’t push through this pain? College sports are hard, but we choose them because we love the grind. However, I started to find myself having to grind through every day in every aspect. Not only were lifts and practices hard, but so was walking across my hilly campus. I would call my mom crying on the way to class because of the pain. My grades suffered, and I struggled to stay social. I found it hard at the end of the day to hang out with friends, though I so badly wanted to. I was tired.  

Luckily, the JMU Athletics staff noticed I was suffering. Another set of heroes. We talked about how the physical pain I was feeling was affecting me mentally.  They encouraged me to get counseling. I was reluctant at first because it meant “giving in” to the pain and letting others see that I wasn’t mentally tough. Over time, however, I have realized that this was the strongest thing I have ever done. I hid my counseling from my friends, teammates and even my family. I felt I could do this on my own but later realized that was not possible. 

I began to heal mentally, and this experience helped truly open my eyes to who I am. I found my vibrant and happy self again. I have now set my sights on a lifetime career helping others in a physical therapy or exercise rehab role, and I’ll be darn sure to treat all patients and athletes with empathy and compassion. The more I have opened up to others, I have also opened myself up to advice, which led me to a doctor known across the globe (literally) for treating CECS and FPAES with a non-conventional approach, using Botox to ‘freeze’ my muscles so they don’t expand and cause the symptoms I had been dealing with. I have flown from the east coast to Wyoming for my treatments six times in the last three years, which hasn’t been an easy journey, but I am back to my sport and grinding each day doing what I love. 

I urge athletes who are mentally suffering to open up to others and know they’re not alone. Get professional help. Know your life is worth it, and you’ll come out on the other side a vibrant, self-loving person more grateful than ever for happiness. You too, will come out of dark days and into light.