Catherine Spencer - Mud, Maul, Mascara: When fighting for a dream can make you and break you

This book is for my family to my parents, Nigel and Jane, and to my brothers, Martin and Gregory. Giving you the nod. Thank you for your support, encouragement, pride and love.

To my husband, Jeremy, you have been with me in the aftermath of my rugby journey. You have seen me at my lowest but you have now helped me to look forward. My life has changed so much since I met you. I have so much to thank you for. I love you; today, tomorrow, forever.

To Stephen Jones (of rugby journalism fame), for telling me repeatedly that I have to write this book. Your words spurred me on. Thank you.

This book is also for me. I needed this book, more than I realised when I started it.

When we talk about our life what do we really mean? How do we define ourselves? How do other people define us? Through our work, our gender, our age, where we live? For years I described my life as playing rugby for England. I defined my life by the all-encompassing drive to win a World Cup. I was Catherine Spencer the rugby player. Rugby was not my only job however; I did not get paid to play rugby, so I went to work because I had to, in order to pay the bills, but when I walked out of the office or turned my laptop off, my personal and emotional life was completely devoted to playing rugby for England. That was my reason for being, this was me, my focus. On 5 September 2010, on the morning of the World Cup final, the Independent on Sunday ran an article. When asked what we would gain if we won the World Cup my reply was: Just the glory of holding the World Cup; thats enough. Thats all it was about for me; that is what everything was about. But I never got my enough.

In August 2014 I was working as a studio pundit for Sky Sports, watching the England womens rugby team win the World Cup. I watched with envy as the captain Katy Mclean lifted the World Cup trophy aloft, I watched with immense agony as former team mates and friends showed such joy on their faces. I knew the extremity of their emotions because at that exact same moment I too had tears streaming down my face. But my tears were shed for the hurt that I had felt four years previously and will always continue to feel; just as extreme as their elation, but a universe of emotions away. A wound that had started to heal over four long years was now destructively torn open in just a few short minutes whilst watching England Women finally win and lift the coveted World Cup.

In 2006 I had to stand with my team mates at the end of the World Cup final watching New Zealand celebrate their win after a game that we could have won; in 2010 I had to watch my opposing captain, Melissa Ruscoe of New Zealand take to the podium and lift the trophy after we lost by 3 points in a game that we should have won. In 2014 I watched England Women win a World Cup final after I retired. I felt bitterness, jealousy, pain and massive hurt. If England had not won in 2014, my own 2006 and 2010 World Cup final wounds would be two scars I would feel proud of; now I am ashamed of them. Now that England Women have won the World Cup after my time I feel that my battle scars are worth nothing. Because what do you really win for coming second? How do I get over this? How do I find purpose and direction in my life that makes my battle scars worth the pain? Do I cover them up? Do I take a new path, or do I use my pain to fuel what comes next?

In 2017 I was on media duty once more, this time on commentary. I witnessed England lose to New Zealand in the final, in front of a packed stadium; and because of that my road to recovery, my transition through retirement, may just have had the kick-start it needed. My own World Cup final losses to New Zealand were pretty good in comparison. Werent they? Someone pointed out to me recently that I am the England captain who has led her team closer to victory than any other against New Zealand in a World Cup final. Does this mean that it is possible to start to feel proud of my war wounds again? Can this really happen? At the final whistle in 2017 I took a moment to try to understand my emotions but I couldnt feel any. I wanted to but I couldnt. I was numb. I was devoid. My hope? That in 2021 my emotions will return, that I will either feel hurt for England not winning or immense joy watching them lift the trophy. Time will tell on both fronts. At that game in 2017 some of my former team mates, who had retired later than me and had played in the 2014 victory, really struggled to watch England lose; their emotion was clear to see. I, on the other hand, felt no emotion. If anything, and as hard it is to write this, I was pleased that England did not beat New Zealand in that final.

People say that England Women finally won in 2014 because of those that fought before them, those that paved the way for others to follow and aspire to, those that laid foundations upon which others would find glory. Those who build such foundations for others, the worker ants, these are selfless people. I was one of those who went before, but I was not selfless, I was selfish; I wanted to win a World Cup. It was my dream. I did not devote my life to building foundations for others; I devoted my life to achieving my dream. I made choices to miss best friends weddings (Caroline, I will forever be gutted that I missed your amazing day), I made a personal choice to not develop a career, I made choices to hardly see friends, I made the choice to not spend quality time with my boyfriend, I made the choice to justify this dream. I didnt do this to allow those younger than me to achieve my dream instead of me. I did it for me. All for me.

I had learned to feel proud of my rugby career and for several years I really have enjoyed telling my story, but this has been a huge challenge since 17 August 2014 when the World Cup trophy was held high by an England arm. Retirement is tough, making your own decision to stop doing the thing that you love is tough, relinquishing any chance of achieving your dream is tough, watching other people achieve your dream without you three years on is indescribably tough. There is no life manual for this, no self-help book, no instruction pamphlet to turn to.

After the 2014 World Cup final, once filming finished in the studio, I was taken back home to my house in Kent by taxi. I let myself in, made myself a bowl of pasta and a large cup of tea and just sat in the dark. I hardly ate, I felt as though I had just broken up from a relationship; slightly ill, shattered, sad but also very aware that some of my closest friends were on the other side of the English Channel, enjoying what was probably the best night of their lives, celebrating the fulfilment of their dreams. This was to date the biggest night ever for womens rugby, something that I felt immensely passionate about; why could I not feel happy? I was enduring one of the worst nights of my life, on my own. Sitting in my own home, a place of such familiarity, but feeling so incredibly lost. In that night, more than any other night, I didnt know who I was. Every way I used to define myself was now taunting me, haunting me. Catherine Spencer, former England captain, and failure.

I have a photo taken at the end of the 2006 World Cup final (17 September) of the forward pack along with our forwards coach, Graham Smith. You can see the tears in my eyes as I crouched down at the front of the photo alongside Helen Rob Clayton. You can see the absolute dejection and misery on my face. I now know that the pain I felt then was nothing compared to what I would feel four years later, or even eight years on in retirement. If I knew then what the future was going to hold, would I have changed my path? How would I have coped if I had known what was to come. I always say that we could have won but the Black Ferns were without doubt the best team on the pitch that day. I remember thinking that I had never ever had to work so hard at every single breakdown as I did in that game. It was energy-sapping. It was the hardest match that I had ever played in.