This World Cup made me cry, a lot: Matildas journey one like no other

I love sport, like really love sport.

And not in just a 'go team go' way, in a soul wrenching, core to my being kind of way, and over the past 12 months, this Matildas cohort has become another piece of my soul.

I support with my whole body.

Every fibre of my being gets sucked into a game and I physically cannot contain the excitement, stress, anticipation, that builds within me.

I'm a screamer, a yeller, a jumper. I will squeeze your hand until you think I've crushed your bones, and I will try to force the stress contained within my body out through my fingers and my toes.

I've loved and supported sports this way for as long as I can remember.

Games are one of the few places it's socially acceptable to wholly, publicly ride waves of emotions. Often with a few thousand of your closest friends.

There's a special place in my heart for female athletes and their achievements, the way they so often have waded through so many systems designed to see them fail and still come out the other side on top.

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They've worked so hard to get to where they are, it is my duty as a fan to support them just as hard.

This year's Women's World Cup has opened millions of people across the country into my sporting world, a world where you hang onto every breath hoping it won't jinx the game in front of you.

As the Matildas stormed their way through to the semi-finals, they took a scenic route, and dragged us along with them.

Win, lose, win, win, win, lose.

I was lucky enough to attend three of their six games played so far this tournament.

I travelled more than 4000 kilometres, slept in some dodgy budget hotels, and danced on a train because my favourite player was getting her first start of the tournament.

The support across the country for this team has been unprecedented, and the Matildas deserve it all and more.

These women have changed the face of soccer in this country, not only for me but for millions of others.

They've united this country in a way I've never experienced, and I feel so proud to feel part of this experience.

But that doesn't mean I've always been happy with them this month.

I'm awful to watch sport with, absolutely horrible, an eternal pessimist, the Matildas could be up 4-0 and I'd be confident Canada could somehow turn the game around.

And I don't keep my anxiety to myself, everyone around me knows exactly how I feel. They might even be forced into feeling how I feel.

My partner learnt long ago to not let me touch him during a game, white knuckles have nothing on whatever mine do.

Blow by blow I could tell you the intensity of emotion I tried to contain through this World Cup.

It started back in October 2022, with the first release of tickets, dropped at the ungodly hour of 4am AEST, I was furious.

How dare they release tickets when we, the host nation, were rightfully asleep. How dare they rob me of the chance to see this spectacle in person. How dare they take this away from me, there's no I in 'team', but there is one in 'ticket' and I wanted my damn tickets.

Eventually I got over myself and planned, ready for the next release, I would be going to the World Cup, and I would be screaming my heart out for our team.

From pinching my partner in the Ireland game, to cutting the palms of my hand with my own nails during the Canada game and traumatising my cats, it's been hard to contain how I feel.

The cats wouldn't acknowledge me for 24 hours following the Canada game, the first one I had to watch at home.

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Sitting on a half-made bed, watching on a precariously balanced laptop, the scream that exited my body came with such volume and intensity the cats nearly hit the roof.

But no game compared to the penalty shootout against France.

Even sitting at home on the couch, I feel claustrophobic, there's not enough space in my body to contain the stress.

I pulled my socks off, they were strangling the stress in my toes, I can't have anything near me, there's too much energy inside my body.

The cats knew better than to try and sit with me this time.

I didn't know what to do with myself, all I could do was hold the tension, squeeze everything tight, and give myself a calf cramp.

My partner, sitting to the right of me nearly vacated the couch, not because he's excited, though he was, but because he was avoiding my flailing right arm, stretching out as far as it can, begging for something to grab onto.

He knows better than to be the pole that steadies me, he'd still like feeling in his arm after this game.

As Cortnee Vine takes her match-winning kick, she's cool, calm, confident, the absolute antithesis of the feelings I've had this past month.

In all my years of following sport, I'm not sure I've ever experienced such a release as watching this side. The build up of anticipation ahead of Sam Kerr's phenomenal goal against England is something I'll not soon forget.

I screamed. I laughed. I squeezed the life out of my friend. I cried.

After Wednesday night's loss, the Matildas are no longer World Cup contenders, and I'm so incredibly sad, but I am so incredibly proud to have been here, to have watched, to have joined these players as they created history.

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