When I first heard upperclassmen talk about the dreaded “sophomore slump,” I dismissed it as just another college myth. Freshman year had been a whirlwind of newfound independence and a growing sense of belonging. I felt fully settled into life at Duke, homesickness barely crossing my mind. I was sure I’d breeze through my second year just as smoothly. But the transition from East to West Campus wasn’t just a change of scenery. The slump was real and I never saw it coming.
A full-time internship that summer left me overworked and burnt out. As a result, the beginning of my sophomore year hit me hard. I couldn’t leave my dorm without my heart rate spiking and my hands becoming pools of sweat. My anxiety was at an all-time high. I felt overwhelmed by the sights and smells of WU, the lights in Perkins and the expansiveness of lecture halls, even when they were half empty. The honeymoon of new experiences was officially over, and I felt the looming pressures of major declarations, extracurriculars, internship deadlines and summer housing.
I felt confined by the four walls of my room, yet I couldn’t leave it. It had become my study space, my dining hall. Anything that brought me out of my dorm and disrupted my routine sent me reeling.
It was mid-November when I finally called my mom near tears, telling her I wanted — no, needed — to change my flight to an earlier one so I could get home faster. I missed her hugs and the smell of freshly brewed tea. While Duke had felt like a new home freshman year, I missed my family. The 5000 miles between Durham and Buenos Aires were gnawing away at the hole in my chest. With tickets already bought, though, there wasn’t much my mother could do to comfort me, other than help me count down the days.
When December finally arrived, two weeks back home in the Argentine sun and sand helped me reconnect with my body and reset my priorities. What did I want out of my Duke experience? If it was academic success, was I willing to commit to my hermit status in exchange for my mental health?
Despite my best intentions, I felt the familiar pit in my stomach as soon as I returned to campus. The anxiety came rushing back to me. It was then that I admitted to myself what I had known since winter break — I had to do something to break the cycle.
During a post-class lunch in Sanford, my friend mentioned club soccer and how she loved the community it had given her. Little did she know, our conversation sent me spiraling into research mode. Could I join a team this late in the year? Would I have to pay dues with just two weeks left in the Spring semester? More importantly, could I play soccer when I’d never kicked a ball in my life (except for that disastrous sixth-grade kickball tournament)?
After learning that I could, in fact, still join, I set my sights on soccer. My experience? None. So, to prepare, I took it upon myself to get out of my comfort zone that summer. I jumped out of a plane and consequently got over my plane-related anxiety (I’m an international student — I fly at least twice a year), camped on an island I had to ferry to and traveled to China by myself through a Duke program. Now, it was time to face my fears on campus.
So, at 8:45 a.m. last Saturday, I headed to Wannamaker Drive for our first game of the season. As I triple-checked my packing list for our two-and-a-half-hour drive, I realized I was forgetting the most essential part of my fit: my brand-new cleats. After chucking them in my bag and panicking about whether I was headed to the right Wannamaker pick-up spot, I was out the door.
As a new player, I’ve volunteered for any position needed in practices to see what I like. But I should’ve crammed some prep in beforehand, because UNC-Wilmington brought their A-game.
Five minutes into the game in drizzling Wilmington, I was already breathless. Everyone seemed to sprint circles around me, while I was secretly praying for a sub. I had no clue what position I was playing; I was just trying to circulate enough air through my body to stay conscious. The redhead I tried (but failed) to mark was breathing down my neck as though she could conjure my handball with her breath. Spoiler alert: she did.
By the time I was finally subbed out, all I felt was relief and a distinct longing for my pink Nalgene. But in hindsight, that moment was more important than I realized. I survived.
No, I wasn’t going to become the next Messi, but that wasn’t the point. The experience was fun, absolutely humbling and strangely fulfilling. I discovered joy in the simple act of playing, learning something new and being part of something larger than just me.
Before pushing myself to join club soccer, I was insanely focused on academics and success had become a metric of my worth. But in soccer, I’m not playing for one sole purpose — I’m playing for the experience, the community, and for myself. Sometimes, happiness isn’t uncovering a new talent — screw your perfectionism — it’s discovering you can do things without an end goal simply because you enjoy them.
You don’t have to be an expert to start something new in college. Whether it’s a sport, a hobby or any extracurricular, what you gain from putting yourself out there can be far more valuable than a trophy or a title. I’m finding my footing (no pun intended) on the soccer team not because I’m a standout player, but because I’ve allowed myself to embrace the joy of being a part of it.
And if you’re reading this and wondering if you should try out a new sport, I encourage you to go for it, no matter if you’re a moral-support player or a goal-scorer. Duke covers the cost of one club sport through the Kevin Gorter Memorial Endowment.
Whether it’s joining a new club, picking up a half-credit PE class or simply going to a practice, all it takes is one “yes.” You might be surprised at what you discover about yourself along the way.
Valentina Garbelotto is a Trinity junior. Her column, “Dear comfort zone: It’s not me, it’s you. Time to break up…”, typically runs on alternate Thursdays.
Editor's note: Valentina Garbelotto was formerly a contributing writer for the news department.
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