A Courageous Voice

The 2012 season was really the first time that things started feeling different. The previous year was incredible—finishing 2011 at No. 8 in the world and making the ATP World Tour Final was a really special culmination of all the work I had put in. The well-documented weight loss, lifestyle changes, rededicating myself to my career: Things were finally coming together for me as a player. And for the first time I felt the pressure and expectations of being a top player. You get pulled in a lot of different directions, and I didn’t yet understand how to deal with that. I think that was where it started.

I began having heart palpitations in the middle of the night when I was on the road. They would show up during specific matches, or if I would have something to drink. I was diagnosed with atrial fibrillation, an irregular heartbeat that would cause my heart to beat out of control. It was pretty scary—it’s hard not to think the worst when something like that is going on.

After my diagnosis, I had an ablation done to correct the arrhythmia. Even though it’s a standard procedure, the process was intense and invasive. It was a pretty jarring experience and that weighed on me a little bit. After that, something felt off. I started to feel nervous in a lot of everyday situations.

I had a great summer swing in 2012, and I felt solid going into the US Open. I played well, and I got myself into a good match with Gilles Simon in the third round. Simon is a tough player and he makes you play a lot of balls. Because the day session before us ran long, we went on late and we played for a long time. And this is the part where everything changed.

I can remember the exact time when it all came crashing down: I was on serve in the fourth set and I looked up at the clock. It was already 1 a.m. Right then, everything snowballed. I started to think of all of the things I had to do after the match. Even if I won, there was still press, physio, ice baths, massage and food. I’m not going to get to sleep until 5 or 6 in the morning, and then I have to get up and practice and I have to play Roger Federer the following day. My mind spiraled.

These thoughts became so overwhelming that I had an anxiety attack while on serve. I’m playing a night match on Arthur Ashe at the US Open—all of the hard work I put in was to be able to play those exact types of matches—and now I’m completely immobilized. I don’t really remember how, but I somehow won the next three games and won that last set 6–3. Then I raced off to see the doctor.

Things didn’t improve much after that. I had to withdraw from my next match against Federer, which was a huge blow. My anxiety grew so difficult to manage that I had trouble flying or sleeping away from home. After the Open, I went to Dallas to train with my coach, Mark Knowles, and grew so uncomfortable sleeping by myself at night that my wife, Stacey, had to fly to Texas just to pick me up and fly me back home. The discomfort of enduring all of this stress and fear brought me to a really bad place mentally.

I have always prided myself on being a mentally tough player. Growing up in Florida, I learned how to play in difficult conditions. I had my best results in the summer because I could bluff that I enjoyed that struggle more than my opponent. For this to be something I couldn’t tough my way out of was hard to wrap my head around.

I eventually had an idea of what I was dealing with and decided to seek help. In the beginning, it was hard to admit and hard to talk about. I’m an athlete, and we’re supposed to be mentally tougher than anyone—especially in an individual sport like tennis where you only have yourself for support.

I was finally diagnosed with Severe Anxiety Disorder in late 2013. I started a regimen of medication, meditation and therapy. Although I was glad to know what was going on, my recovery was a frustrating process. Every time I think I’d make some headway, I would have an episode and it would take me weeks to get back to where I was before.

After a while, my life regained a sense of normalcy. I learned to avoid the things that could trigger my anxiety. I could go to dinner with friends, I could travel alone, I could do a lot of things that I loved before anxiety disrupted my life. But I still had trouble on the court. It got to a point where I finally asked why I was putting myself through it. The anxiety and discomfort I experienced in certain matches wore me down so much I could no longer do my job. I really felt like I was done.

I started to think about how I should go about retiring. I took some time away and played some tour-level golf events, which was a great experience. I got to travel a lot, and played a tournament in Canada that let me travel with my wife and our newborn son for the first time. It took my mind off the fact that everything I had been working towards had been stripped from me and gave me an outlet for my competitive nature. But the idea that my tennis career was cut short by something beyond my control never sat well with me. I didn’t want anxiety to define how I went out.

Slowly but surely, I started playing more at a pace I was comfortable with. I started to think about hitting some balls with friends, and maybe even playing doubles. And then I decided to try to play again, not only for myself, but to give these issues a face.

When I was going through this process, I would have loved to have someone visible, like an athlete, who had a story similar to mine that I could relate to. That I might be able to bring awareness to mental health issues and educate people on what this disorder is and how hard it can be to live with was important to me.

I’ve made a lot of friends in the past few years who are privately struggling with mental health issues like mine. People who work as CEOs of Fortune 500 companies or play professional sports have come to me, wanting to talk about their issues. These struggles affect people from all walks of life. But I want people to realize that this can be beaten. Even people working in the most high-pressure situations can conquer this.

For those struggling with any kind of mental health affliction: You are not alone. There are millions of people out there who struggle with these things every day. Getting help—and getting help early—is very important. It may not feel like it when you’re in the depths of it, but you can conquer it and you can get your life back. I can tell you from experience: It’s going to get better.

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Mardy Fish reached a career-high ranking of No. 7 in the world in 2011. After playing sparingly in 2013 and sitting out 2014, he returned to the tour earlier this year at Indian Wells. He played a number of summer hard-court tournaments leading up to the US Open, where after 16 years on the pros, six singles titles and eight doubles crowns, Fish said goodbye to the game.