I thought I’d cry when I retired.
But I didn’t. Not at first.
Instead, I went to the Paris 2024 Olympic Games, not as a competitor, but as part of the Team GB support staff — mingling, laughing, screaming my voice raw cheering on friends and fellow athletes. I danced. I felt the joy. I felt the freedom. And honestly? I felt relief.
Because had I been there as an athlete, I know I wouldn’t have been able to experience Paris with the same lightness. I wouldn’t have allowed myself the club nights, the belly laughs, the deep conversations and moments of awe. I’d have been locked into performance mode, waiting for my event — long jump, always one of the last.
That week in Paris felt like breathing out for the first time in years.
But then…
grief came.
Not in the moment of retirement, but in the quiet after.
The Olympic Blues hit — hard.
Listen to a discussion about Olympic Blues with Lloyd Wallace on the Define Your Success podcast.
I wasn’t expecting it. I mean, I had plans: a shiny new MBA on the horizon. I was stepping into a bold new chapter. But August 2024 was one of the lowest months I’ve experienced. I wasn’t competing; I was grieving. I wasn’t at the top of the runway; I was in transition.
Because what no one really tells you is that letting go of a dream, even willingly, still breaks your heart.
I found myself cycling through the five (maybe seven?) stages of grief:
- Denial – “Surely I’m still an athlete… right?”
- Anger – “Why did I have to let go at all? Why not one more jump?”
- Bargaining – “Maybe I could train part-time? Just stay in the system a bit longer?”
- Depression – The quiet heaviness of August. Feeling unmoored. Not enough.
- Acceptance – It’s done. It had to be. It was time.
And if we go further —
6. Reconstruction – Choosing the MBA. Finding new rhythms. Dreaming again.
7. Hope – Writing this. Speaking. Sharing. Growing. Being more than just an athlete.
Letting go was the hardest win yet.
Not because it didn’t hurt, but because I did it anyway.
Because I chose to stop gripping a dream that had run its course.
Because I honoured the version of me who trained relentlessly… and made space for who I am becoming.
And because — this is big —
I’m still an Olympian. Always will be.
That identity doesn’t leave me. It lives in how I show up, how I lead, how I love, and how I continue to grow.
So now I want to ask you something.
- Is there something in your life that’s shifting?
- Are you holding on tightly to something that deep down… might be done?
- Or maybe you’ve already let go, but you’re still sitting in the silence, unsure what comes next?
Wherever you are — grief, joy, confusion, all of the above — I want you to know: you’re not alone.
👏🏾 I applaud you for the courage to even feel what you’re feeling.
👏🏾 I applaud you for letting go — or trying to.
👏🏾 I applaud you for simply being on this roller-coaster of transition with your heart still open.
So here’s your moment.
Pause. Reflect. Ask yourself: where are you in your own cycle of letting go? And what might ‘winning’ look like for you now — even if it’s messy, uncertain, or still unfolding?
Drop me a message. Share your thoughts. Let’s walk this out together.
Blessings,
Abs 🤍
abigailirozuru 