Powering Through

The idea of purpose is something that I’ve thought a lot about ever since I was a little kid. What’s our purpose collectively? And how do we all individually fit into that bigger picture? I truly believe that everyone on this planet has a purpose in life, a reason why we’ve been put here. But also, collectively, I believe that we have a purpose together. 

I believe God put us here to achieve great things together. Everyone has a greater purpose to serve humanity, and that can mean something different for everyone. But for all of us, there should be something more to life than just making money and making it to the weekend. I have always felt like football wasn’t my only, or true, purpose, but my vehicle for making the world a better place — something I believe should ultimately be part of everyone’s main purpose in life.  

With me, ever since college, football has been the biggest passion in my life. I’m obsessive about my technique, and I view what I do as an art. I’ve gotten to a point where I am so physically, mentally, and emotionally invested in everything I work so hard for. I’ve come so far, and I have a lot more to go. I am motivated to be the best, not merely just good enough. And my lifestyle revolves around doing all that I can to be truly exceptional at my craft. Money is cool, but it was never the main goal for me. I want to reach my full potential, and coming up in the league, with my faith, I was confident in myself, and that I was on the right path.

That’s pretty much where I was during my fifth year in the NFL, 2020. I was coming off a first-team All-Pro season my fourth year, and I had continued to improve that level the next season. Then, midseason 2020, I signed a big five-year extension with the Ravens. Things were looking great. 

But literally two days later, everything changed in an instant.

My ankle got rolled up on against the Steelers. (I feel like it could’ve been avoided, but what can you do?) Before I knew it, they were putting me on the cart, and they had my left leg in an aircast. We found out back in the locker room that I had broken my leg and dislocated my ankle. 

Literally two days later, everything changed in an instant.

- Ronnie Stanley

I basically tore up everything in my ankle besides my deltoid ligament (one of the strongest ligaments in the body). They put me in a cast from my hip to my toes. Couldn’t bend my knee for three months. I couldn’t even sit in a car. I had to lie in the backseat if I wanted to go anywhere. 

Pain meds were the only thing allowing me to get some sleep, especially early on. I could feel the eight staples in my leg rubbing against the cast every night. 

The physical pain was really bad. But the worst part about it all was the mental spiral. The feeling that I was letting everybody down. The organization had just paid me all this money, I’m a leader for the team, we’re trying to make a Super Bowl run … and now it’s a battle for me just to get in and out of my house. 

It was like: Am I ever going to be the same? Have I peaked? 

And I know everyone peaks at some point, but I never thought it could be so early for me. That’s something I thought about a lot. My brain was spiraling 24/7. I was definitely feeling depressed and anxious to rehab through my injury and get back to playing like myself again.  

I rehabbed hard all off-season, but when I came back to training camp that summer, I still wasn’t feeling right. I kept pushing and pushing and pushing through the pain because I felt a responsibility to everyone. I felt terrible about not being able to be there for my teammates, about not being able to be a leader for my team. But I knew something wasn’t right. And when I walked into the building that first day, I felt this wave of anxiety. It was coming from all directions. There was pressure from myself, from my coaches, from a lot of my teammates, from fans. And I get it. We’re trying to win a Super Bowl. I understand those expectations. 

So I kept at it. 

I was under the impression that the pain I was feeling wouldn’t hinder my rehab progression or damage my body more seriously. So even though I felt that something was off, I pushed through it.

First game, Week 1 of the 2021 season, I was in so much pain that I was crying for a good portion of the game. Coming off the field after drives, I had tears streaming down my face out of anger, frustration, despair, and just … pain. I felt like I was letting down my team. I played like ass, and I knew it, and it hurt all the more because I just couldn’t do what I knew I should have been doing out there on the field. Plus, we lost. I knew something was severely wrong.

After the game, they did an MRI, and it turned out that my deltoid ligament looked like it was completely torn — the only thing that didn’t tear the season before. For six weeks after that, I tried to rehab the injury because the doctors felt like maybe it wasn’t actually torn, and that I could just rehab it and get better. But if it was torn, it would be an eight-to-12-month recovery, and there wouldn’t even be a 100% certainty that the ligament would work normally after the procedure. It was all the more frustrating because there was no way for us to know for sure if it was actually torn until I got the surgery. With another lost season looming, I could sense everybody’s frustration. Nobody wanted to believe it, not even me.

I’ll never forget that feeling of everybody looking at me like: “Damn, Ronnie, you got the bag and now you’re getting surgery, huh? Do you really need it? Can’t you just play through this?”  

The narrative was basically: This dude can’t fight through the pain. He doesn’t love the game like that. He just wants to get the money and run. 

But I got the surgery, and when it was over the doctors let me know … my deltoid was indeed completely torn. 

I wouldn’t have been able to play with that injury no matter what I tried to do. There was no amount of toughness that was going to change that and allow me to play effectively, no matter how tough I was. It had nothing to do with not being able to “fight through the pain.” 

And it’s funny, because if you know anything about me, you know that I’ve fought through a lot worse in life. 

When I was 14, I thought I was probably checking out for good. I was riding in one of those Can-Am Defenders back home. (If you don’t know what I’m talking about … it’s like a really souped-up golf cart.) Just riding through the neighborhood with my friend (R.I.P. DC), and we ended up turning, and all of a sudden everything was upside down. 

The whole cart flipped, and it landed on me. Like 1,500 pounds straight on my side. 

Before I could even blink, I’m laying in the road, blood everywhere. I knew the whole right side of my body was crushed. I could actually see the bone sticking out of my arm. Neighbors heard the crash, called the ambulance, and came to help. I was getting really sleepy at one point. But everyone kept telling me that, no matter what, I needed to stay awake until the ambulance came. 

When we got to the hospital, they took me straight into the ICU. And, thank God, after a week in the ICU, I pulled through. But I was pretty broken. I had shattered one side of my body, basically. The doctors told me the next day that if the cart had landed another few inches to the left it would’ve crushed my head. 

I was in a wheelchair for months after that. Cast on my arm, cast on the foot. 

Before that, I had been O.D. with sports — not just football, but basketball, which I was also very passionate about playing. If I wasn’t sleeping or playing Call of Duty, I was traveling with my AAU basketball team or at football practice. Sports were so second-nature to me that I don’t even think I realized how much time I spent playing them growing up. Then I was in a wheelchair, and everything got taken away from me, and that’s kind of when it sunk in for me how much I missed being able to play and do things and feel free. 

I missed it so bad. There’s only so much Madden you can play before you start to go crazy. (Did I rage-quit on my little bro the one time he beat me and then smash my controller? Maybe.) The only bright side of the whole deal was that me and my brother and sister had been begging our parents to let us get a dog for years, and I think they felt so bad for me after that accident that they ended up letting my siblings and I get two. (R.I.P. Drake.) So that was actually what jump-started my passion for pet ownership and being a dog dad — something that, over the years, has proven to be one of the most rewarding elements of my life.  

Once I could finally get up out of that wheelchair, I was on my 80-year-old man rehab routine. It felt like I was literally crawling my way back to the field and the basketball court at certain points, but I got there.

And look, I’m not an open book, but I’ll be the first person to tell you that I’ve struggled with doubt, anxiety, and fear. I’ll also be the first to tell you that when I got to Notre Dame, I was so raw in my technique that I was a left tackle lining up in a right tackle stance because it felt so awkward. I felt so out of place my first two years in South Bend. Picture me: I’m the only Black kid in the whole O-line room. It’s all dip and country music, and I’m the kid from Vegas who showed up freshman year without a winter coat or snow boots. I felt misunderstood. Sometimes I’d get into arguments with my O-line coach about just being myself early on. It was depressingly hard. It was lonely in South Bend much of the time.

But I didn’t quit. I didn’t leave. I became close with a lot of my teammates who I didn’t have a ton in common with. I became super close with my O-line coach. I became an All-America, the No. 6 overall pick in the draft. 

I’m not ashamed of those days — some of the toughest days of my life. I’m actually really proud of them, and I wouldn't change a thing. 

I’m not ashamed of those days — some of the toughest days of my life. I’m actually really proud of them, and I wouldn't change a thing. 

- Ronnie Stanley

My whole life, the one thing I’ve tried to never be afraid of is failure. 

Sometimes I wish I could’ve stood up and said all of that to everyone back in 2021 and 2022. I wish I could have told them this whole story. Maybe it would’ve helped. 

Instead, I felt like I had the whole world standing on my chest.

It was real work to push through that period of my life. It was a struggle.  

During those dark days, I needed some support to keep my spirits up, and to keep me moving forward. At home, my two rescue dogs, Lola and Rico, were a huge source of comfort and unconditional love that made all the difference on a daily basis. Just being able to come home from a game when my injury didn’t allow me to be at my best, or from an especially difficult rehab session, and see their faces, their tails wagging, jumping up on me to welcome me home? I couldn’t help but smile in those moments.  

Lola was actually the first dog I ever adopted on my own, right when I first got to the NFL. And she changed my life. 

I remember walking into that shelter like it was yesterday. As soon as I set foot in that place, I asked to adopt the dog that had been there the longest. The dog that no one seemed to want. 

They pointed me to Lola. A full-grown pit bull who had been used as a breeding dog and had been abandoned by her owner. 

She looked pretty scary to me at first, to tell you the truth. I wasn’t sure how things would go. I was nervous. But Lola and me … we became best friends almost immediately. And I couldn’t be more thankful that I decided to adopt her that day. 

Lola was one of those dogs who never wanted to leave my side. She’d follow me everywhere. She actually bonded with me so fast that she’d have separation anxiety and tear up my door any time I left. She didn’t mess with any of my stuff, or destroy anything around the house, she just went after the doors, no matter where we lived … because she still had those memories of being abandoned. 

I felt for her. Gave her some grace about the doors. I understood.   

My bond with Lola was beyond special. She was so loyal and authentic and supportive, no matter what was going on.     

That experience with Lola ended up being the inspiration for my foundation, which looks to match up and improve the lives of rescue dogs and individuals in need of companionship. We help people build up the courage and wherewithal to take the leap of faith like I did with Lola and adopt a shelter dog. I want others to realize what a huge blessing it can be — how it’s a true win-win situation. 

There’s no doubt in my mind that having my dogs around really was something that helped me get through those rough times when I came home each day.  

Outside of the house, I relied a lot on my family, who always had my back, first and foremost. And one teammate I can talk about always having my back is Lamar Jackson. 

There were other guys who had my back, too. But 8 always had my back. I’ve never met a more authentic person in the NFL. He’s the face of the franchise and has all the pressure in the world on his shoulders. He's got every incentive to just be a Company Man, and instead he comes in every day like his genuine self. Not trying to fit any mold, an elite competitor with that childlike joy for the game. I love it.

You can’t get through this stuff alone. That’s my biggest message to you, if you can relate to my story. 

To be successful in this or any sport — or just in life generally — you have to have a short memory sometimes. And that’s the good and the bad thing about the NFL. 

Now that I’m healthy and coming off a good season, everybody is looking at me like, “What happened?” 

Like I just woke up one day and decided that I should be good again. 

What happened?

What happened was that after those injuries I couldn’t do what I needed to do.

Physically first, then mentally. 

I was playing the game with the anxiety of getting the right results, and without any joy in the process of getting those results. 

I was playing out of fear of not messing up, not with the love that comes from attempting to be great. 

Back before those injuries, I was coming off a season where I felt I was one of the top players at my position, and yet every time I laced up my cleats after that, all I was thinking about was the mistakes I might make. I was tight, hesitant, second-guessing myself. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my 20-plus years of playing football, it’s that you can’t play in fear. You’ll play at half the speed and with twice the amount of thoughts. The best way to play is with a belief and confidence in yourself and what you’re doing, wanting it to feel subconscious. Or, as Bob Rotella puts it in his book How Champions Think … a line that’s really stuck with me over the years: “Get out of your own way.”  

I probably put in 200,000 reps in drills over the past four years to rebuild my body. But nothing I did physically comes close to the many changes I made mentally. 

You can’t get through this stuff alone. That’s my biggest message to you, if you can relate to my story. 

- Ronnie Stanley

I gave myself grace. Took the pressure of being perfect off myself. 

Thank God I had my faith to pull me through the darkest days. 

Thank God I had my family, who were always there when I needed them. 

Thank God I had my rescue dogs, who day in and day out, lifted my spirits and showed me unconditional love.

Thank God I had some teammates, coaches, and fans who didn’t buy into the narrative, who knew I really was going through it. 

Thank God I had Number 8. 

Thank God I had fans who reached out to me with words of positivity. Even if it was one in 10. I’ll never forget y’all. 

Thank God I had the chance to re-sign in Baltimore and be a Raven for life. 

If you’re reading this, and you’re feeling really empty, just know that there’s a lot of people out there who know and understand what you’re going through and how you’re feeling. And like I said, we all have a purpose in life, individually and collectively.

I don’t have any magic words for you to make you feel better. But if you really want to find purpose, I truly believe that a good first step is to stop being afraid to look stupid, or being afraid to fail. In whatever you do in life, do it with confidence and belief in yourself that you can be great. You can even be the best! Why not you?

With hard work and investing your focus and energy into something you care a lot about, you can change the world. We all have a purpose, but don’t put yourself in a box. Let your purpose be a light on Earth. You’re capable of more than you think.      

Sincerely, 

Ronnie