USWNT's Ashlyn Harris uses battle with addiction, anger to show fans they are not alone

A middle-aged woman walked over to a restaurant table where Ashlyn Harris sat finishing her meal.

Harris remembers the woman paid for her food and said, "You are much younger than me and you don't know me, and I guess I really don't know you, but … you saved my life."

It wasn't the first, or last, encounter of its kind for the Orlando Pride goalkeeper.

By sharing her past struggles with depression, aggression and addiction, Harris has forged deep connections with fans that extend beyond the soccer pitch.

"There's a gentleman who's older, over 50, who said I've helped save his life, who's contemplated suicide for I don't know how long," Harris said. "He shows up every week to give me a hug, to wear my jersey. If that keeps someone alive, you bet I'm going to do whatever I can to make sure that I take the time to go over, say hello, give him a hug, see how he's doing. Takes less than five minutes.

"Five minutes is worth saving anyone's life."

Harris returned from a long injury recovery to play in the Pride's 5-0 win over Sky Blue FC on Saturday night.

While she had to take a two-month break from NWSL and U.S. women's national team matches, Harris has used social media channels and various public events to make sure she never lost her connection with fans.

Her injury changed the conversation surrounding the goalkeeper situation for the national team. Harris and Alyssa Naeher were front-runners, competing to take over for Hope Solo. Harris fans worried she might fall too far behind or lose her spot altogether to a younger player called up to help while she recovered.

The concern was theirs alone.

"Next year is when it really matters," Harris said. "Right now it's an off year, so lineups are changing, personnel are changing. This is a year to test things out and see how we do. I think it's good for overall growth for some of these young kids to come in and evolve and not freak out every time they come into camp."

She wasn't always so level-headed. It took years of personal reflection and seeking help from professionals to get to a place where she can keep everything in perspective.

Plus, an injury is nothing compared to the emotional pain she's felt in life.

U.S. coach Jill Ellis and teammates describe Harris' style of play as aggressive, but that term used to fit off the field as well.

As a child, Harris saw her family struggle with drug and alcohol abuse. She internalized the burdens she felt at home and eventually began to act out.

"I was a bully. I was bullied. I was aggressive. I was physical. I fought a lot," Harris said. "I would try to find little gangs to get associated with because I wanted a sense of family that I didn't have at home at the time. There was such a separation, and it was like heavy air every time I came home."

She began a path of self-destruction while simultaneously using soccer as a way out. Her skill put her in contention for youth national teams and there she found people willing to help.

They set her up with renowned sports psychologist Trevor Moawad at a young age. The first couple of sessions didn't go very well.

"I was like, 'You don't know me, I don't know you. I'm not going to walk in here and tell you my problems and all of a sudden walk out and feel better,' " Harris recalled.

Slowly, trust built and she started to open up. She also stopped punching goal posts when she made a mistake.

"All that aggressiveness that I saw and felt as a kid started to lift off me just because I could tell him my story," she said.

But she continued to struggle with those issues through her college years at the University of North Carolina.

Harris ran into a former acquaintance one day at a Starbucks near her hometown of Cocoa Beach. His name, Jamie Tworkowski.

They knew each other from years of surfing on the Space Coast. As they caught up, Tworkowski told Harris about the nonprofit organization he founded, To Write Love on Her Arms. The organization helps those struggling with addiction, depression, self-injury and thoughts of suicide.

Harris felt like he was speaking to her soul.

"At the time, I was starting to get heavily addicted to Adderall, big time, and it wasn't for ADHD," Harris said. "Started having a ton of injuries, started losing a lot of weight, all these different things. And in that moment, everything came to a realization like, 'Wow.' He just started telling me how passionate he was about telling his story and his depression. And you know, addiction, suicide, all these different things and how it's so frowned upon to talk about."

Harris got heavily involved in the charity and swore from then on she would use her platform and her past to help others. She began seeing a therapist again and developing healthy ways to cope with the pain, including getting tattoos. Both of her arms are now covered in ink.

"I love tattoos because it's a good form of pain for me," she explained. "To some people, it probably seems crazy, but I love to sit and feel alive and feel the scars. It's almost like checking off all the painful things that I've been through. All these things on my body tell a story and it's super-deep and it's super-important and it reminds me I'm still here."

She opened her life to strangers and fans, welcoming them to stop and talk, share their stories and ask for help. It made her feel alive and as though she was helping create a solution instead of contributing to stigmas surrounding those issues.

She also helped the Pride get involved as well. Fans began showing up to games wearing TWLOHA T-shirts.

"I think the thing that makes the connection is her genuineness and her honesty," Pride coach Tom Sermanni said. "Her willingness to share and be open about it is part of it, but it's the way she does it in a real honest manner … not looking for headlines with it, just sharing it as a person to person thing as you would with friends. I think people connect to that honesty bit."

Sometimes that can lead to people wanting to know more than Harris is willing to share. Some parts of her life are off limits, safe spaces. One of those is her relationship status.

"People are so interested in these letters, LGBTQ," Harris said. "Some people love to be out. Some people don't want to label themselves and that's fine. I think sexual orientation has nothing to do with what I do every day. I'm not going to put myself in a box. That's the way I choose to live my life. I don't hide anything. Anyone who knows me knows what my personal life is like.

"I think that I share so much of my life with fans, it hurts me in some ways. Just because I give you a piece of me doesn't mean you get it all. There's very few people in my life who get it all, and that's sacred to me. … Some things you just want for your own. I don't want anything in the media about my personal life in terms of my relationship. This is one aspect where I cut the cord because I want it to be healthy and I want it to be special, and it's special between a small intimate group, not the [whole] world."

The burden to form these personality-based relationships with fans sometimes is heavier for women, who continue to fight for more fan support. Many players remain on the field hours after the game, chatting, posing for photos and signing autographs until their arms are numb.

In addition to face-to-face interactions, Harris regularly receives letters detailing how she helped people accept who they are and envision a better future.

One of those letters came from 56-year-old Ron Morin of St. Cloud, Fla., who is pretty sure he is the older gentleman Harris mentioned.

Morin is physically disabled after multiple traffic accidents and a roof that collapsed on top of him when he was 18, fracturing bones throughout his body.

He can't work, he said, and contemplated suicide more than once because of his disability. He's also suffered from heart attacks, one that occurred while handing Harris his letter during an event last year. Harris sat with him until paramedics arrived, a story Morin detailed through words and pictures on his social media accounts.

"I wrote her a letter just talking about my disability and how rough it is," Morin said. "And how, you know, getting into the NWSL and Pride gave me something to do. I followed her for awhile from the national team, so I was aware of her viewpoints. It was like she said, she's spoken about her childhood and everything she's gone through. … She's just an awesome role model, somebody to look up to."

When asked if hearing Harris' story and watching her play truly saved his life, Morin said, "More than once."

Harris doesn't claim to have all the answers. She's not cured, she said, not a saint and definitely not perfect. But she hopes sharing her journey moves the people around her as they move her.

"Let's just say every day I'm unapologetically, authentically me," Harris said. "And I don't [care] what people think of me. I just have to wake up every day and be content with the decisions I make.

"I need everyone else around me to be impactful in my life in some way, and I think my fans need that too. And I choose to accept that role."