A lot of the stress or the harm I went through was because I was so attached to a particular idea of sport. I wish we had fewer expectations and fewer stakes. If I’d taken it less seriously, maybe I wouldn’t be as hurt.

I think the world around you spins this fairytale of how if you work really hard, you will reap rewards. While I don't mind the idea of sort of hard work or commitment, it's just not a good idea for kids to be thrown so deeply into something.

A broader failing of a lot of competitive sports is that you're not seen first as a person, you're seen first as an athlete.

When I look at women's cricket teams, they seem a lot more wholesome and accepting of diversity. There are a significant number of queer couples on the Australian, British and South African cricket teams, and there's no such space among "men's" sports.

Forget coming out, there's no space where you fully express yourself or talk about your feelings. This has often made it difficult for me to continue playing sports, and made it difficult to feel like I’m able to be a full person in those environments.

The toxic masculinity in those spaces definitely clarified who I was not and who I didn't want to be. After I came out, I was in the US for a while, exploring whether I would play for the national team.There were a couple youth training camps, and I found the same toxicity and misogyny there.

I think we’re shaped and informed by the experiences we go through, and these experiences told me something about myself. Ultimately, I realized that this was not something that I wanted to do.

I’m still grappling with how some places have inculcated a really strong love for sport. I’ve made friends and enjoyed with people, who I wouldn’t have connected with without sport.

But I guess it ultimately becomes inadequate because of the type of space you’re in.

[As told to @Ragi Gupta — continued]