When I made my Olympic debut at the Tokyo Games, I was a rookie who somehow got to sport’s biggest stage. Nobody knew who I was, and I also didn’t feel like I belonged. I was glad for the experience, but nothing prepared me for the lows that came after what should have been the peak of my career.

With the title of ‘Olympian’ came a weight that I struggled to shoulder. I hid everything behind my fencing mask. I began to measure myself against a barometer that wasn’t my own, and I was faring poorer than what others felt an ‘Olympian’ should do. I yearned for validation, couldn’t cope with the new expectations, and felt completely depleted of motivation. Truth be told, I fell out of love with fencing.

Every day was a grind, but somehow I kept at it. I wanted to prove something to myself too – that the little girl who enjoyed fencing was still in me.

So my second Olympic outing feels like a do-over. This time, I’m a far more self-assured fencer, and I know better who I am. I still want to do my country and the people I love proud.

But this time, I’m standing on the piste in Paris, fighting for myself.