A Hard Day’s Goodbye: Why We Are Retiring from Tennis
To the Global Community,
There is a particular silence that exists only on a tennis court after everyone has gone home. The lights are off, the last echo of a struck ball has faded, and the lines on the court are just pale ghosts in the twilight. It is in that silence, which I have known since I was a little girl, that I have made my most difficult decisions. It is from that quiet place that I write to you today to share one of them: I am retiring from professional tennis.
The words feel both foreign and inevitable as I type them. Foreign, because my identity has been so inextricably linked to a racket, a ball, and a dream since I was five years old. Inevitable, because my body, in its profound and persistent language of pain, has been whispering this truth to me for a long time. We have had a conversation, my physique and I, a relentless negotiation that has moved from hopeful dialogue to a final, sober ultimatum. The passion is a fire that still burns, but the vessel that carries it is cracked.
You, the global community of fans, critics, and lovers of the game, deserve an explanation that goes beyond the standard “due to ongoing injuries” line you’ll read in a press release. You have been with me on this whirlwind journey—from the qualifying rounds of the US Open to that impossible, magical title. You have shared in the highest highs and, unfortunately, witnessed the frustrating lows. You have a stake in this story, and so I owe you the truth as I see it.
My 2021 US Open victory was not a beginning; it was a supernova. It was a beautiful, blinding, all-consuming event that reshaped the cosmos of my life in an instant. I was no longer Emma Raducanu, a talented junior with a hope. I was Emma Raducanu, Grand Slam champion. The world poured in, and with it, an unbearable weight of expectation. Every match thereafter was not just a match; it was a defence of a title, an identity I was still discovering. The target on my back was immense, but the pressure I placed on my own shoulders was infinitely heavier.
And then, the body began to rebel. The ankles, the wrists, the relentless niggles that became chronic struggles. Surgery after surgery, rehabilitation upon rehabilitation. I have spent more hours in medical centres and physio rooms than on the practice courts in the last two years. Each comeback was a story of hope, but each setback was a lesson in heartbreak. The cycle is a brutal one: you race to get back to the top, only to be knocked down again before you even reach the foothills. It is a special kind of torment to have the will but not the means.
I am often asked if it was “worth it.” The answer is an unequivocal, resounding yes. That fortnight in New York was worth every moment of struggle that has followed. To feel that flow, that perfect alignment of mind, body, and spirit in the crucible of competition, is a feeling I will carry with me forever. It is a gift given to very few. To have shared it with my team, my family, and with all of you watching around the world, was the honour of my life.
But a gift is not a life sentence. To continue would be to disrespect the very game I love. It would mean showing up as a shadow of the player I know I can be, unable to train with the intensity required, unable to compete at the level you all deserve to see. Tennis is a brutal and beautiful meritocracy. It demands your entire being. I can no longer give it that, and so, I must step aside.
This is not a defeat. This is a strategic retreat. This is me choosing to remember the game for the joy it gave me, not the pain it now causes. It is me choosing to define my life not by what I can no longer do, but by what I can now become.
What does that future hold? I don’t know entirely, and that is its own thrilling prospect. I will pursue my academic interests, which I had to put on hold. I will explore the world of business and fashion, passions that have always intrigued me. I will advocate for athlete welfare, for the mental and physical health of young competitors who are thrust into the spotlight too soon. My story is a cautionary tale as much as it is a fairy tale, and I intend to use my voice to ensure the next generation is better protected, their journeys more sustainable.
Most importantly, I will simply learn to be Emma. Not Emma the tennis player, but just Emma. To wake up without pain, to have a weekend free of training, to discover a self that isn’t measured by a ranking or a result.
Thank you. Thank you for the cheers that lifted me when I was weary. Thank you for the messages of support that found me in difficult moments. Thank you for believing in the girl with a dream, even when that dream has had to change its shape.
This is not goodbye to the community we built together. It is simply a goodbye to the court. The discipline, resilience, and courage tennis taught me will now be applied to a new game, with a different set of rules.
The silence on the court is no longer lonely. It is full of potential. And I am finally ready to walk towards it, not with a racket in my hand, but with an open heart and a future wide awake with possibility.
With immense gratitude and forever love,
Emma Raducanu
