There's No Crying in Rugby: Sport as Therapy

I recall my psychologist telling me depression was a choice, not a sentence. “Sports reduce levels of depression in both kids and adults,” he said waiting to be met with great enthusiasm. I spent my money on this, I remember thinking. If there was something chemically wrong with me (a lack of serotonin) than I couldn’t imagine how sports might improve that. I had spent years, playing rugby never questioning its place in my life. “Could you see yourself without it?” he asked. I'd never really thought about it. "I guess not," I said “Then we must tap into that part of the sport. You can recreate your happiness.” This started my pursuit.

In recent years rugby has been surrounded by stories of important figures, coaches and players and their battles with depression. Clive Norting one of the greatest referees of all time disappeared from the radar in 2004 citing depression as his reason; never leaving the house, making him incapable of personal relationships and spending a considerable amount of time in the hospital. Ex Ireland back row Alan Quinlen became severely depressed after an eye gorge during a game that left him unable to play, missing the 2009 Lions tour. He wrote about the effects of his actions in his book Red-Blooded, saying:

“In the 0.4 of a second it took for my hand to travel across Leo's face, I had no idea the impact it would have on my life, on my family's life. I was battling something much deeper and much darker. I sank into a depression which took me months to get out of and, by the end, I knew how lucky I was to have come up for air again. It engulfed me. It subsumed me. It frightened me”

Just recently English playboy and Flyhalf, Danny Cipriani admitted to his own struggle with depression after being removed from the English squad. He spoke candidly about his feelings: 

“You end up feeling more lonely and frightened and then the problem gets bigger and bigger. Talking to a counselor is nothing to be ashamed of because it's their job and they understand and having teammates and people who love you supporting you also makes a big difference.”

Reading their stories made me realize that rugby wasn’t a choice in the same way that no one chooses to be depressed. It becomes a part of you.

Depression has a tendency to disrupt the engagement between mind and body. While it is often viewed as a psychological illness it has profound effects on our physical selves. An overwhelming amount of people diagnosed with depression suffer from chronic fatigue as well as unexplained aches and pains. A combination of physical and psychological distress can cause a lack of motivation as well as difficulty with basic thinking patterns and motor skills. When the body is able to rest it is able to repair itself, many people who suffer depression skip the REM phase of sleep, waking up without being fully rested. Getting up some days was difficult and when I reminded myself that I had practice I spent all day convincing myself that exercise was just what I needed and soothing away the aches and pains that had appeared out of nowhere for what seemed to be no particular reason. 

My psychologist suggested I make a conscious effort to push myself beyond the limits. It was difficult to get out of my head sometimes. A pass would be made and there I’d stand hands out ready to receive the ball, yet drop up it anyway. I knew what I wanted to do, in fact, I knew what I needed to do but it was so difficult to get my mind and body on the same page. I was like a faulty machine that shut down every time I attempted a simple task. I would pull multiple levers, knowing they couldn’t all function at the same time and inevitably explode; anxiety! When I began thinking of myself as a human I excused my faults and mistakes, got out of my head and started to enjoy just playing the game. The rugby pitch became more of a metaphor for me than an actual physical thing. I had the ball and I was running from something, running from defenders. I never looked back, I never cared how big or how fast they were but I knew they were coming after me and I had no choice but to keep on moving. Depression had been the same, popping up when I least expected it, following me everywhere I went. It was overpowering somedays and often I found myself lying down, defeated. At one time I had dropped the ball, so to speak.

The isolation (seperating myself from my team) didn’t make me a better player in the same way that isolating myself didn’t make me less depressed. It was a joint effort friends,family, therapists and team mates. I had something to be happy about and that was progress. I realized there was nothing to be gained by practicing kicking or passing on my own. In the same when that depression was difficult to combat alone.When I got out of my head and played the game I began to depend on my team, I wasn’t a singular person on the pitch, we were not a group of individual players, we were the machine that worked together to produce a win.Rugby may not be an immediate cure for my depression, but accepting it as part of my life, a part that makes me genuinely happy, is profound.