The Olympics took away Amber Glenn’s joy. She found it in her final skate – For as long as she could remember, the Olympics were the dream. For Amber Glenn, the Winter Games weren’t just a competition. They were the dazzling north star of her childhood — the thing she envisaged while lacing up her skates before dawn, the image she carried through broken hips, throbbing ankles, and lonely hotel rooms. Like so many American skaters, she grew up watching the dazzling lights of Winter Olympics and imagined herself at center ice, soaking in the acclaim. But somewhere along the way, that dream began to seem heavy.
When the Dream Turns Into Pressure
Elite figure skating has a way of diminishing delight. What begins as art on ice can progressively transform into math — rotations, base values, under-rotations, execution scores. For Glenn, the closer she moved toward Olympic competition, the more the magic appeared to leach out of the sport she once loved.
The Olympic cycle is merciless. Every performance becomes a referendum. Every tumble feels disastrous. Every practice skate carries the weight of a nation’s expectations. Glenn found herself skating not to express, but to prove. Not to feel, but to qualify.
And when the Olympic opportunity slipped away — whether via location, timing, or the terrible depth of U.S. women’s skating — it stung in a way only athletes truly understand. The Games had defined her aspirations for so long that without them, she felt unmoored. “I forgot why I started,” she has said in several interviews over the years. That simple conclusion stung worse than any missed jump. The Olympics took away Amber Glenn’s joy
Losing the Joy
Glenn’s journey hasn’t been linear. She’s been candid about her challenges – mental health issues, injuries, inconsistency, and the huge emotional toll of high-level competition. There were seasons when she questioned everything. Why put her body through this? Why endure the scrutiny? Why chase a standard that always seems just out of reach?
Figure skating is unusual in its blend of athleticism and sensitivity. You are judged not simply on how high you jump, but on how convincingly you feel. And when your own joy goes, audiences can sense it.
Glenn began to feel like she was skating inside a cage of expectations. The Olympic dream, once bright, became oppressive. Instead of motivating her, it plagued her. Each program felt like a test she was frightened to fail. But sometimes surrendering a dream provides space for something else.
Reclaiming the Ice
What changed wasn’t one particular moment. It was incremental – a shift in thinking, a willingness to redefine success. Glenn began to ask herself harder questions: What if skating didn’t have to be about the Olympics? What if it could just be about the ice again?
She leaned into sincerity. Glenn, one of the only openly LGBTQ+ women competing at the highest levels of U.S. figure skating, has spoken about how essential it is to skate as her entire self. In a sport long defined by tradition and expectation, choosing to show up unabashedly constituted its own kind of rebellion — and liberation. The strain didn’t disappear overnight. But it softened. Training sessions became less about excellence and more about connection. Programs become storytelling again, not survival. And gently, almost silently, joy seeped back in. The Olympics took away Amber Glenn’s joy
The Final Skate
By the time she got onto the rink for what she knew could be one of her final competitive skates, something seemed different. It wasn’t about Olympic standings. It wasn’t about proving detractors wrong. It wasn’t about chasing a shadow of what could have been. It was about this moment.
The arena lights bounced off the ice, producing familiar shadows. The music began — not as a cue to perform under pressure, but as an invitation to feel. Glenn skated with a freedom that had escaped her for years. Her jumps were tremendous, but it was her look that captured. Each step sequence had aim. Each spin felt grounded, intentional, alive.
If there were nerves, they didn’t govern her. If there was pressure, it didn’t define her. For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t skating toward anything far. She was skating in the present. And when the final notes faded, there was a stillness – that rare, electric silence before applause pours down. Glenn’s eyes filled, not with sorrow, but with relief. She had found what she imagined the Olympics would give her all along: fulfillment. The Olympics took away Amber Glenn’s joy
Redefining Victory
In competitive sports, success is generally limited to medals and podiums. But Glenn’s story challenges that restricted view. The Olympics may not have given the idyllic conclusion she always envisioned. They may even have taken her joy for a time. Yet in turning away from the solitary obsession with the Games, she rediscovered something far more sustainable – a love for the craft itself.
Her story speaks to a bigger truth about athletes: sometimes the chase can eclipse the reason we begin. Sometimes ambition must be recalibrated. And sometimes, letting up of the largest goal provides place for a truer one.
For Amber Glenn, the ice ceased being a proving ground and became a haven again. And in that final skate — unburdened, real, firmly her own — she didn’t just complete a program. She reclaimed herself. The Olympics once defined her. But joy, in the end, defined her more. The Olympics took away Amber Glenn’s joy
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