A Letter from a Young Pro
I don’t really know how to say this out loud, so I figured I’d try to write it instead. Putting it out into the world seems to be helping others, so why not try at this point?
From the outside, I think most people would say things are going pretty well for me. I had a great college career. All-American. Played in big events. Turned pro with some momentum and people believing I could make it. I’ve got support, opportunities, people who care about me and want to see me succeed.
That’s what makes this so hard to explain.
Because I feel like I’m slowly burning out… and I don’t know how to stop it. It’s not that I’m not trying. If anything, I’m trying too hard.
Every week feels like it matters more than it should. Every round feels like it’s being evaluated by more than just me. My parents, coaches, people who have supported me, people who have expectations—they’ve all invested in me in some way, and I feel like I’m carrying all of that with me every time I step on the course.
It’s heavy.
And I don’t think I realized how heavy it had become until recently. I used to love this game. I mean really love it. I couldn’t wait to get to the course. I’d play for hours and not even think about anything else. It felt simple back then. Now it doesn’t feel simple at all. Now it feels like I’m showing up to prove something every time I tee it up.
And when you’re in that mindset, there’s no space to breathe. That’s honestly the best way I can describe it. I feel like I can’t breathe out there sometimes. Not physically—but mentally. Like everything is tight. Every shot means too much. Every mistake feels like it confirms something I’m afraid might be true—that maybe I’m not as good as people thought, or not as good as I thought.
And the weirdest part is, even when I play well, it doesn’t feel how I expected it to. A good round doesn’t make me happy. It just gives me relief. Relief that I don’t have to answer questions. Relief that people aren’t going to be disappointed. Relief that maybe, for a few days, I can feel like I’m doing enough.
But that feeling doesn’t last. It fades quickly, and then it’s right back to the same pressure again.
I don’t know how other guys do it.
I look around and see players who seem free out there. Loose. Enjoying it. Able to handle the ups and downs without it feeling like everything is on the line. I don’t feel that way anymore, and I don’t know when it changed. Somewhere along the way, the game stopped being something I loved and started being something I needed to justify.
That’s a hard place to be.
Because I still care. I still want this. I still want to be great. But the way I’m going about it right now… it’s not working. It’s exhausting. And honestly, it’s starting to take something from me that I don’t want to lose.
The joy.
That feeling I used to have when I was younger, when I played because I wanted to, not because I felt like I had to.
I miss that.
I don’t want to quit. That’s not what this is. I just know that if something doesn’t change, I’m not going to be able to keep doing this the way I am now.
I need to find a way to breathe again.
To play without feeling like every shot defines me. To enjoy this again. I just don’t really know how to get there on my own. I want the only expectations to be my own, but it's hard to ignore the outside noise. Here's to finding fun on the course again!
— A Player Trying to Hold On