Daniel Vasquez: The Opponent No One Could See

TW: abusive parenting, substance abuse, addiction

Coming into my first year of high school, I was excelling in sports. I was a multi-sport

athlete, wrestling varsity as a freshman.

From the outside, I looked like a kid with a promising future in sports. What wasn’t visible was everything happening internally.

I was struggling with anxiety and depression before I even understood what that meant. I was growing up in a dysfunctional home that was affected by substance abuse. I knew how to wrestle, be competitive, cut weight, push through exhaustion, fight through pain, and not give up.

What I did not know was how to identify and talk about what was happening on the inside.

Sports Were My Identity

Sports were a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I started with T-ball and peewee basketball. That then turned into playing baseball, basketball, and football. When I was 9, I started wrestling, and wrestling became my main focus. Sports weren't something I did a couple of days a week. They were my life. 

My dad took my sports seriously. He coached my baseball team when I was around 9 or 10, and we won the city championship. He wanted me to succeed, but he could also be extremely hard on me. 

Depending on the season, I might have baseball followed by wrestling, basketball followed by wrestling, or football followed by wrestling. When wrestling wasn't available, I trained in judo or Hawaiian Kempo. 

I was always competing in two sports at once. 

Sure, that taught me toughness and discipline in some areas, but there was another side to it. 

Most nights, I came home from practices exhausted. I would eat, shower, and go straight to bed. Homework became an afterthought. By junior high, I was falling behind academically and getting in trouble because of my grades. 

At home, things weren't easy either.

Both of my biological parents struggled with substance use. My biological mother had left me when I was an infant, and I grew up primarily with my father and my stepmother. My father's substance abuse affected our household, and discipline was often physically, mentally, and emotionally abusive. 

Expectations around sports always remained high. 

Wrestling also often meant cutting weight. As a kid, there were times I ran wearing a trash bag, sat in saunas, and severely restricted what I ate because making weight wasn't presented to me as an option. 

I learned very young how to be uncomfortable. I learned how to push through pain. 

What I never learned how to do was say, "I'm not okay." 

When Everything Disappeared

By the time I reached high school, wrestling was a big part of who I was. 

Then I lost it. 

During my freshman year, I got into a physical altercation with another student and was expelled. Another fight at the beginning of my sophomore year resulted in my being expelled for good. 

Just like that, my athletic career was over. 

Looking back today, I understand that I didn't just lose sports; I lost my identity. 

I had spent my entire childhood as an athlete. My friends continued playing sports. Some eventually went on to college. I watched them continue down a path I believed was meant for me. 

I didn't know who I was without sports. And I didn't have the tools to deal with that loss. 

Finding a Gap to Fill the Void

I began drinking and smoking marijuana. Eventually, things progressed. 

I became addicted to pills, particularly opiates. From there, my substance use escalated to illicit street drugs and intravenous use. I began selling drugs to support my addiction and got into serious trouble with the law. 

At 19 years old, incarceration became part of my life. Over the years, I spent more than 13 years incarcerated. 

Sports had once given me structure, goals, a sense of belonging, and something to work toward. Drugs and my new lifestyle surrounding them filled that gap. 

The consequences became much greater than just losing a wrestling match.

A Different Kind of Fight

During my final prison sentence, I spent time in administrative segregation. I remember looking around and asking myself a question: Is this going to be my life? 

If the answer was yes, then I could keep doing exactly what I was doing. If the answer was no, something had to change. 

I started looking into education and learning about recidivism. For the first time in a long time, I started seriously thinking about what my life could look like if I pursued higher education. 

When I was released in 2023, I entered treatment and began my recovery journey. Eventually, that same treatment program helped me by giving me an opportunity to work there. 

I went from receiving services to helping provide them, eventually working my way up to program manager. 

At the same time, I went back to school. 

Finding Sports Again

I began attending Santa Barbara City College and studying sociology. 

As my education progressed, I became interested in the connection between athletes, mental health, identity, and substance use.

Eventually, I attended the Sports Industry Academy, where I had the opportunity to meet and speak with professionals from various parts of the sports industry. 

I kept asking them essentially the same question:  Do you think there is a need for mental health professionals who understand athletes struggling with mental health or substance use? 

Whether I was talking to someone working in marketing, athlete representation, administration, or another area of sports, the response was consistent: Absolutely. 

That question was personal for me. Because I know what it's like to be an athlete who is struggling. 

What People See vs. What They Don't

When I think about my younger self now, there are two versions of that person. There is a version everyone could see. 

He was a talented athlete. He had a promising future. Then he started fighting, got expelled, began using drugs, got arrested, and eventually went to prison. 

There's another story underneath. 

That kid was dealing with anxiety and depression. He was living in a home affected by addiction. He was experiencing intense pressure. He was struggling academically. He didn't know how to identify what he was feeling. 

And when sports disappeared, he lost the identity he had built his entire childhood around. That doesn't excuse the decisions I made. 

However, understanding what was underneath those decisions matters. This is one reason conversations about student-athlete mental health are so important. An athlete can be performing well and still be struggling.

An athlete can look tough and still be scared.

An athlete can be surrounded by teammates and still feel completely alone. Sometimes, the opponent causing the most damage isn't standing across from you. Most of the time, no one can see it. 

Asking Different Questions

When an athlete starts struggling, it's easy to focus on what we can see. 

Why are your grades dropping? 

Why are you missing practice? 

Why has your performance changed? 

Why are you isolating yourself from your teammates? 

Are you on drugs? 

Why are you risking your scholarship or your future? 

Those questions may be valid, but they don't always get to the reason behind the behavior. Sometimes we need to ask a different question: What's happening with you? 

An athlete can be struggling with anxiety, depression, substance use, family problems, injuries, academic pressure, or even just the expectations that come with competing at a high level. 

That's why the people surrounding student-athletes matter. 

Coaches, teammates, athletic trainers, academic advisors, counselors, and athletic departments are often in a position to notice when something changes. A drop in performance, missed classes, isolation, or a sudden change in personality might be more than a discipline or performance issue. 

Sometimes an athlete doesn't need another person asking why they're throwing away their opportunity. Sometimes they just need someone willing to sit with them, ask them what's going on, and just listen. 

That simple conversation might just be the first time an athlete feels comfortable enough to say: "I'm struggling." 

More Than an Athlete

Athletic identity is a real thing. 

For many athletes, sports have been a part of their lives since childhood. Years of practice, early mornings, late nights, traveling, and competing can make being an athlete more than something you do. It becomes how you see yourself and how others see you. 

Sports often help you build positive traits such as confidence and discipline, while providing community and opportunities you might never have had otherwise. 

But what happens when the sport you've built your life around is suddenly gone? Every athletic career eventually comes to an end. 

Sometimes it's graduation. 

Sometimes it's an injury. 

Sometimes it's moving on to the next level and having a professional career. 

And sometimes, like in my case, choices and circumstances take sports away much earlier than expected. 

Athletes need support not only in improving their performance but also in understanding that their value extends beyond it. 

Your sport can be an important part of your identity without being all that you are.

Becoming the Person I Needed

Today, my life looks very different. 

Recovery gave me an opportunity to rebuild.  Education gave me a new direction. 

I worked hard at Santa Barbara City College, maintained strong grades, and earned the opportunity to continue my education at UCLA. 

My goal is to become a licensed clinical social worker and eventually work with athletes dealing with mental health, substance use, identity, and major life transitions. 

When I look back at the kid I used to be, I don't see someone who needed more discipline.

I see a young athlete who needed someone to recognize that something was going on underneath the anger and behavior. 

I needed someone who understood anxiety and depression. I needed someone who understood addiction. I needed someone who could see beyond the athlete. I needed someone who could see past my performance and my mistakes. I needed someone who had been down a similar road. 

Most importantly, I needed someone who could help me understand that sports were something I did, but they weren't all that I was. 

I can't go back and change what happened to that young athlete.  But I can decide what I do with his story. 

Maybe one day I can be there for another athlete before their struggle reaches the point mine did. 

I knew how to fight an opponent standing across from me on a wrestling mat. I just didn't know how to fight the opponent I couldn't see.