I’m the greatest futboller you’ve never heard of.

Give me five minutes and I’ll prove it to you.

Marta, Christie Rampone, Megan Rapinoe, Becky Sauerbrunn, Formiga, Carli Lloyd, Abby Wambach, Lieke Martens. Those are names you recognize — World Cup Champions, Olympic gold medalists, FIFA Players of the Year. They’re also all women I’ve played with. I’ve even captained a few.

I’ve represented my country and played in three different Champions League finals. I’ve won the Bundesliga as well as the Cups in Norway, Sweden, Germany, and France.

Which has to make you wonder, how have you never heard of me?

When I was five years old, I was given a piece of paper and prompted to decide then and there what I wanted to be when I grew up. In my fumbling, childish scrawl, I wrote “Football Player.” I couldn’t have known those words would end up guiding my life, fueling a dream I have never outgrown. Especially because I originally meant “American Football Player” — the sport my father played in college.

Since then, I have not only played alongside the greatest players in the world, but have also called seven countries “home,” learned to speak (albeit imperfectly) four different languages, and played in front of the King of Norway. Best of all, I’ve been able to make a living out of chasing my dream.

My success hasn’t been the product of natural-born talent. It was not so long ago that I was recruited as a “walk-on” in college, unable to juggle a ball more than 10 times in a row. But if I’ve learned anything from my journey, it’s that you have to have an incredible amount of stubborn belief and a whole lot of grit to make it. With that, anyone can make the impossible possible.

And somehow, I’ve done just that, reaching levels of success I could have only dreamed about but never predicted.

None of it has been easy. I’ve had to make my way without a national team backing and, even more humbling, without a shoe contract for most of my career. Despite having played for the best clubs in France, Germany, Sweden, and America, and being voted the 72nd best player in the world, I’ve had to pay for my own plane tickets to try out for international teams because they didn’t recognize my name.

It’s impossible not to think how different my journey would have been if I was a men’s player. I can’t imagine a men’s player with my resume having to fight as I’ve had to fight for recognition and opportunity. I can’t imagine a men’s player still having to pay for his own cleats and plane tickets.

But as I come to the end of my career — one that most of you have never heard of — I want you to know that none of this is said with any bitterness or regret. It is with pride and a belief that the next small town girl will have the chance to live an even bigger dream; that my career and those of the other unrecognized Greats with whom I’ve played have paved the way for younger athletes with starry eyes and crazy goals.

I want them to know that disappointment is an inevitable bump on this road, whether that means not making the team or watching your work go unappreciated. Those are the moments that help you see who you really are. Those are the moments that show you that you are stronger than you think.

Because it’s those difficult memories that I cherish the most. Yes, playing in front of 42,000 screaming fans with my country’s emblem on my chest was amazing. As was hoisting the Bundesliga trophy. But more often I think back on those times when tears were running down my face, on those moments of body-shattering pain when I felt like I couldn’t take another step but still found a way. I remember all those times I sat alone in a room, in Lord knows what country, wondering what the heck I was doing, asking myself, Am I really cut out for this? or, Is it time to walk away?

Those are the moments that let me look back and be proud of what I’ve done.

I have absolutely no professional regrets. I made it. I showed up and found a way to finish what I started when I scribbled down my dream in that wide-ruled notebook 28 years ago.

I am incredibly grateful for the experiences I’ve had, and I’m thankful for all of the lessons I’ve learned, for all the life-changing people I’ve met, and for the countless opportunities I’ve been given to discover what I’m made of. I’m confident that my struggles have left this game in a better place than where it was when I started my journey.

As this chapter of my life comes to a close, I can look myself in the mirror, hold my head high, and say, “Well done, you great. Well done.”

A week before the 2008 U20 Women’s World Cup, I blew out my knee in our last scrimmage against Argentina. I was devastated. I cried the entire flight home, knowing that I was missing the World Cup and would have to undergo surgery to reconstruct my ACL and repair my meniscus. I was also dating my first girlfriend and was certain that my family hated me for it. Though I was hopeful that they would grow to be more accepting over time (as they have), I would have given anything that summer to be out on the field rather than laid up at home.

As disappointed as I was, I knew I’d come back stronger. What I didn’t know was that that was just the beginning of my injury woes.

In January, 2017, a week before training camp with Mexico, my body went into shock as a result of overtraining. I had to miss camp and another opportunity to represent my country. June of that same year, just before another national camp, I fractured my back.

Bad luck, I told myself. Nothing was going my way, but I was determined to push through. By February, 2018, I was finally back on the field for Apollon Ladies FC, with World Cup qualifiers just around the corner.

Then I tore my Achilles.

WHOA.

Fucking whoa. That’s all I could think. I was sitting outside the imaging center in Cyprus when the doctor told me.

I immediately called my brother, 7,000 miles away back home. I cried into the phone. I couldn’t even breathe normally. I was gasping for air as I sobbed and tried to explain to him that my soccer career was probably over, which meant that my life was, too. He was able to talk me down, and his voice put me at ease for a few minutes. Then we hung up and I started hyperventilating again. I just kept thinking, there’s no way I can do this again.

But I knew I had to.

Because all I ever wanted was to make the World Cup roster and represent Mexico. And I had come so close, only to have the opportunity ripped away by injury. But after the initial shock, I knew I still wanted to play soccer. And I knew that I just needed to be healthy in order to play at the highest level.

Still, after having my Achilles repaired in a foreign country, far, far from home, it wasn’t just my body that I had to rehab. Sitting on the sidelines and dealing with PT, all while living halfway around the world from my friends and family, had caused me to fall into a depression.

Today, I can tell you that no matter the injury, the mental and emotional pain is always greater than the physical. There are programs for rehabbing all kinds of physical injuries, but there aren’t any guidebooks for dealing with the heartbreak and the self-doubt that comes with them.

What carried me through it all was my love of soccer. Even when I wanted to quit, I refused to, knowing that all the hard work, both mental and physical, would be worth it once I was back on the field. Five months after my Achilles surgery, I was starting to see a light at the end of the tunnel.

So of course, I immediately tore the labrum in my right shoulder, missed World Cup qualifiers, and had to watch from home as my country failed to qualify.

Back came all the doubt and depression. All I could do was ask myself, Why?

Why does this keep happening to me?

Why am I always fighting just to get on the field?

Why do I keep coming this close, but only this close, to living out my dreams?

I still don’t have the answers to these questions.

What I do know — what I’ve always known — is that soccer remains my greatest, truest love. No injury has or ever will change that. It is a love that drives me forward whenever life gets rough. A love that is unconditional. A love that lets me live freely, without judgement.

When I’m on the field, totally consumed by the game, there’s no better feeling. And no matter how many times I get knocked down (at this point, I can’t even keep track), that feeling always drives me to get back up.

All of the heartbreak — the inexplicable pain, the emotional struggles, the tears that stream down my face even as I write this — has made me as resilient as they come. Every physical scar has left a mental scar that has made me stronger, wiser. I know I can’t always control what happens to me, but I can choose how I respond. I can choose to dwell on the negative, or I can choose to be proactive. I can choose to give up, or I can choose to persevere.

I know that someday, maybe soon, my playing career will be over. But until then, I choose to enjoy the time that I have. I choose to play and to go out on my own terms. I choose to fight.