For a long time, I didn’t want to be famous. I didn’t want to be stopped at dinner with my family. I felt used for a picture or an autograph. The iconization pulled me out of my own body and made me worry about how I looked from your eyes.
But now, when I look up into all of your faces, I feel at home. I see a tapestry of my 15-year career reflected back at me. I see a community of people that I helped build and that have helped build me. I see people that know me. That read my writing. That listen to me yap on The Re-Cap Show. I see people that curse any coach that doesn’t start me, for goodness sake!
Sometimes when I see you at the end of the game, I look up and wonder: where did you come from? It still feels unreal for you to be wearing my kit and shouting my name.
You’ve filled stands, crossed continents, held up signs both clever and ridiculous, shouted my name, and sometimes shouted at me too. You carried me when I was tired, celebrated me when I was flying, and reminded me — again and again — that I was never doing this alone.
You’ve been my chorus, my critics, my community. You were the voice in my ear when I ran to warm up, the collective gasp when a shot bent wide, and the roar when it didn’t. You’ve been relentless in your love, even when I fell short of our expectations. I haven’t forgotten “Dogs for Christen.” IYKYK
And somehow, you always seemed to know more than I was trying to share. You caught shadows in photos, drew conclusions in comments, and believed in Tobin and me before we ever said the words ourselves. You even changed the course of my career. #BringCP23toLA wasn’t just a hashtag — Angel City signed me because of you. And oh so sadly, I’ll retire without fully knowing if it was “CP two-three” or “CP twenty-three.”
I’m one of the last of a generation — the ones who lifted the 2015 and 2019 World Cups, who stood arm in arm in the fight for Equal Pay. Leaving has been hard because I know what it symbolizes: an era closing. But I hope you see it as the beginning of another one, too — one you helped build with your voices, your faith, and your relentless belief in what this game could be.
Thank you — for the letters, the chants, the awkward selfies in airports, the thoughtful gifts celebrating Bob and my love of “Wicked”, the words that reached me when I needed them most. Thank you for making me feel seen, not just as a player in a jersey, but as a person trying, failing, learning, and beginning again.
You taught me that being someone’s favorite player isn’t about the goals. It’s about showing up — again and again — even when it’s hard, even when it’s messy, even when it hurts. And in return, I hope I gave you belief, courage, joy, a sense of possibility… and some pretty nice goals to celebrate!
I won’t leave this game believing I was ever the best player in the world. But I will leave feeling like I was one of the most loved. And that is the gift you gave me, one I’ll carry forever.
So this is my wave to you: thank you for everything.
snowghoul
areudirty
ellievsbear
prguitarman
turnnoffyourmind
