AT THIRTY, STELLA DONAHUE'S ONLY GETTING STARTED

2031/05/06

Sub-categories: Editorial. Cover Story. Shot of Wellness.

She's the holder of several world records. Every time you think you know how many medals she's won, she adds another three to her collection. Now the Olympic swimmer invites HART Magazine into her North Carolina home for a rare, candid conversation.

By Joelle Miller

—

I'm stood in the center of a town straight-out of a romance novel (you know what I mean—the town with the colorful houses where the high-strung New Yorker unavoidably falls in love with the grumpy-turned-sweet Bed & Breakfast-keeper), outside a bustling café on Main Street, as I spot her.

Stella Donahue is sat by one of the tables on the other side of the large floor-to-ceiling window, a phone pressed to her ear. A pen is pinched between her fingers, a notch of concentration between her brows, eyes zeroed in the pink notebook before her as she nods along, speaks, jots something down on the page.

She looks up, notices me and instantly breaks out in a beaming, inviting, toothy smile—those who've been lucky enough to turn their TV on just as the camera focuses on Donahue post getting out of the pool will know exactly what I'm talking about. Along with the freckles smattered across her nose, the simple white tee and jean-combo and the mid length, sun bleached brown hair, there's a sort-of cool girl laid-back, surfer California style to it. Which is ironic, considering she grew up on the East Coast. 

 As she waves for me to step inside, I find myself somewhat flustered. Nearly starstruck. (Remember that video circulating circa 2022 of a young woman with the most awful curtains bangs fainting as she came across Serena Williams backstage at a HART Magazine x Allure event? Yep. That was me.)

The A.C. runs on a high inside the café and my nerves have sufficiently cooled down as I reach the table. Donahue, still on the phone, shoots me an apologetic grimace as she covers the mic.

"I'm so sorry," She greets me. "—give me a sec."

I sneak a peek at the notebook. It's a jumble of numbers and some longer, some shorter notes. Tactics. Speed. Form. Moods. Among other things. Donahue nods along to the voice on the other end of the line, mumbles in agreement, jots something else down. A goodbye follows.

"Sorry," She says again as she hangs up, folding the notebook shut. She drops it into a white cotton tote along with her phone, spinning around on the backless stool to fully smile at me. She gestures vaguely, explaining, "I'm doing all my training from here this month—which means a lot of phone-time."

I assure her there are no worries. The phone-call's actually given me enough time to gather my senses. Another fainting-incident on the resume diverted, at least for now. I glance around the café she's chosen for us, filled with costumers young and old, the tables differ in height and size, orange takeaway cups tower behind the barista counter, the sweet scent of espresso beans fill the space.

"This place surely seems popular."

"They have the best bagels in town," Donahue tells me as she leads the way toward the counter. "Actually," A small laugh escapes her lips. "It's probably the only place where they have bagels in town, but they have great iced tea. I'm very particular when it comes to my iced tea."

We place our order to-go, and soon we're back out the door, iced tea and promised bagels in hand.

"This is definitely home," She tells me as we weave through streets of colorful houses. On the way she points to specific doors—the library, her favorite clothing boutique, the place to go for the town's best pizza and the other place to go for the best pasta. There's a stickiness to the air one can only find this near the sea, and Donahue, orange sunglasses now perched atop her nose, fits right in.

Since a few years back, this is where she resides when she's not traveling for competitions, is on location in Colorado to practice with the national team, or hops onto a plane to spend time on the East Coast with her family.

"Out of the three, I try to schedule my time here the most."

We cross a street, ending up in a park. It's crowded with people but still every noise seems to soften as the greenery surrounds us.

It's hard to believe she didn't grow up here. As we walk she greets fellow locals by name, stops to compliment a haircut of a friend and is—at one point—swarmed by a group of children seeming to know her as Stella rather than Stella Donahue, the elite swimmer. Their bubbly voices spill through bites of ice cream, recalling stories.

"I drop by the town's official swim club, occasionally," Donahue explains as we continue walking. She moves through the paths with ease. It all comes very natural, as if walking these streets is something she's been doing her entire life. "As much as my schedule allows."

"I wasn't actually sure about the move—at first," She tells me as we've taken refuge from the sun's rays, protected by the shade of a tree. She folds her knees to her side and sips her iced tea (lemon flavored, for those wondering), a thought notching her brows. "I'm used to the city bustle, but I wanted small and I wanted quiet and we were looking at a few places,"

We refers to Donahue's longtime fiancé, human rights lawyer Jacob Wilson (we wrote a piece on the timeline of their relationship here, amidst the photo of their hug during the 2028 Olympics going viral), and herself.

Her lips curl in a small smile. "A place on the water, that's what we were looking for. We'd almost settled on a lake town in New England, at first, where we've both spent a lot of time, but then we... well, we ended up here. It was the right choice. I'm very at home now, I love the high school games and the barbecues. There's a real sense of community, it's nice—but I was hesitant. My memories of first coming here about... Oh God, nearly ten years ago... well, they were very mixed. Complicated."

I don't push further. While Donahue is notorious for a minimal social media, or well a minimal overall media presence, no one will have missed her gut-twisting contribution to Eyes on the Prize, the New York Times Bestselling collection of incredibly honest and vulnerable essays penned by twenty US-based athletes on the hardships and darker aspects of chasing their dream. (Read HART Magazine's review from February of 2027 here, and be sure to give a read-through of the content warnings linked here before adding it to your shopping cart.)

"I'm so grateful for that opportunity," She tells me. "I think the collection is a very important piece of writing, and a step to bringing about change in this very complex world of sports," 

I can tell she has a harder time finding her words now. She pauses as she contemplates what she wants to say, and she shifts in her seat as she continues. 

"It almost feels surreal, to share that space with these great athletes I admire and look up to, and then you realize every single one of them have had—or still have—less-than-fortunate experiences casting a shadow over all the good stuff. And how sad is that? That, if anything, I hope will resonate with people and make them see how much work there still is to be done."

Donahue co-penned her essay with colleague Nadia Hamid, and while both their names have circulated around the press before, the collaboration capitulated them into another realm of recognition. I compliment her on their writing, not only for their bravery of putting those words onto a page for anyone to read, but for how well-written and captivating their language is as well. I'm far from the first to point out this talent.

"Oh," She fiddles with the lid of her cup. "Thank you. You know, a lot of people bring that up—I've even had some ask if I'd like to write pieces for other things but I'm not sure that's something I could do if I don't do it with Nadia. This essay... well, it really started out as a conversation between the two of us that was then transformed into words on the page. It all came so easily, working together. If you showed me the essay now—besides the parts specifically tied to my experience—I wouldn't be able to point out who wrote what. Nadia and I are very close friends, I'm not sure people understood that, prior to this. The sense of trust there, between the two of us but also with the editors of this book, that's were the magic lies."

I point out this will bring huge disappointment to the fans anticipating, hoping for a memoir in the next few years.

A loud laugh leaves her lips. "I'm only thirty! A memoir about what?"

While we're on the topic of her age, I cannot help but ask what I've spent the past three years wanting to know: Are you tired of the press pestering you about the younger talents emerging on the swim scene?

There's a sense of satisfaction to her smile as she straightens in her seat. "Thank you for phrasing it that way—most people simply ask if I've begun thinking about retirement. And I am, a little, tired of it, yeah."

"Don't get me wrong," She holds her hands up. "I'm very grateful about the interest in what we do, but competing is tough, it's hard work and it takes a certain kind of thick skin to be okay with always having to greet a barricade of reporters with a smile after a meet, no matter your results. By that point you're running on your last reserve of energy."

"I understand where they're coming from," She continues. "I'm aware I probably peaked a few years ago. But look at what's happened these past decades—we have forty-year olds competing in the Olympics! I won't hang around until they have to physically remove me, but I at least want to wrap it up when I feel I'm done, not when other people assume I am. I never even thought I would make it this far—I graduated from university later than planned, I didn't know if I'd get back in shape after that break at the start of my twenties, once I got out there again I almost felt late to the game. I want to enjoy it. Give me a few more years."

And the young stars?

"I love them. I'm so happy we have this, pretty large, generation of amazing swimmers surfacing right now. I think the next decade will be really exciting to watch, there's such an abundance of talent in a way we haven't seen in a while. There's no animosity there. Of course I want to win, no one would invest this much time into a career like this not wanting to win, but it's a privilege sharing the space with the new generation. We have a lot of fun together."

—

The next morning, we meet on the beach.

Turning her back on the water, a surfboard tucked under her arm, Donahue smiles brightly, a rosy tint to her cheeks, and gestures to the white house with a wrap-around porch towering above us on a small hill. "Here it is—my place on the water. It's just easier to breathe here."

It sits on the edge of the town, close enough to feel part of it, far enough to not feel crowded.

She leads the way up a staircase, and it seems in the comfort of her home she's forgotten I'm the one interviewing her. "Do you surf?"

I don't.

"I'm still a bit of a beginner," She tells me. "It's something I got into a few years back. It's tough, coming off the season. I needed some time to adjust, finding ways to change my routine around, and it stuck," She gives a small laugh. "I'm always happiest near water, I think."

"I'll just get into something not wet," She says as we step into the house through a wide set of glass doors, ending up in what seems to be the living room. "Have a look around."

As she re-emerges minutes later, damp hair twisted into a bun on the back of her head, dressed in a white button down (sleeves rolled up) and a pair of blue denim shorts, I let her know I love her house. 

There are stacks of magazines spread about, photos of family and friends ("That one is from the housewarming party we threw when we first moved in," She says of the one in the hallway, displaying a large group of people against the backdrop of the beach) among the artworks and sweaters and slippers strewn about the intentional, design-pieces of furniture.

The light space is giving part Architectural Digest, part home.

"That's exactly what we were going for," She jokes, smile widening in that familiar way. We end up in a kitchen, where surprisingly—in contrast to the lightness of the rest of the house, the cabinets, counter and kitchen island are all moving between shades of gray and black. What catches my attention though, is the unhindered view of the ocean through the large, wide windows.

"Pretty great, isn't it?" Donahue moves through the kitchen, places a bowl of berries in front of me on the kitchen island and goes, "Do you drink coffee? I shouldn't go for coffee—I drink far too much coffee."

We end up making coffee. And we've only just sat down in the living room as I tell her I've been thinking about the non-existing memoir. Or rather, why I think so many people want it.

She pauses mid-sip of her coffee. "Oh, dear. Well, let's hear it."

Despite the things we all do know about Stella Donahue, there's still this sense we know nothing about Stella Donahue.

"That's somewhat intentional but it also just comes naturally," She tells me. "A lot of people are great at being out there, in the spotlight. At putting themselves in the spotlight, even. But that's never been me, I'm more of a 'forget-I-even-have-a-phone' kind of person. And now that I've gotten used to that kind of privacy, it's difficult imagining I'd ever want that to change."

But it is changing—in the past year Donahue's been more active on social media, championing several causes. A prominent one is mental health initiatives. In a way, that tells us a lot about who she is a person.

"I guess that's true," She says. "I've known for quite some time I want to work with those causes—generally but especially in the world of sports. We, as a society, talk about it a lot, which is great, but I think we need to get even better at actually targeting it. I try to do what I can with the platform I have."

Is that something she will dedicate more time to once she—on her own terms—decides to retire from her current career?

"Yes, absolutely. That's the plan. I'm way more comfortable using my voice now than when I was younger," 

She pauses, twists in her seat as a ghost of sadness touches upon her features. "Though, I suppose I used it a lot back then too."

When it comes to her personal life, she'll keep to her privacy.

"I'm lucky in the way that I had close friends who'd already been through the journey of going pro," (NFL-player Ethan Taylor, who's a childhood friend of Donahue's fiancé, reappears in several photographs throughout the house) "—and knew of the visibility and pressure that comes with that. They definitely helped me understand early on I have a right to set boundaries, and to keep some things to myself."

She sips her coffee, then straightens in her seat. Soft footsteps—seeming to do their best not to be heard—echo through the house.

A chortled breath leaves her lips. "Jake?"

"Hey," Comes a voice from around the corner, and the man it belongs to appears in the doorway half a second later, smile widening as their eyes meet. "I didn't want to interrupt."

He's not—I assure him.

Donahue moves aside, leaving room for him on the couch. "Did you just wake up?"

A low-rumbled laugh leaves Wilson as he rubs a hand over his face. "Yeah."

"He's been traveling so much these past two weeks," Donahue tells me. "That always happens to us; when I'm here, he's somewhere else and vice-versa."

"And then we just end up getting on a plane to wherever the other one is," Wilson grins. "And then we're both jet-lagged."

Donahue laughs. "The people in charge of our schedules aren't always pleased to find out we're not always in the same cities they last left us in."

It's interesting watching the two of them together. While Donahue definitely gives off effortless, coastal girl vibes around-the-clock, there's a different sense of ease to her when she's put next to her fiancé. Anyone who's ever spotted him supporting her during a competition can tell he's absolutely enamored by her, but here—on the couch—it's obvious she's just as much in awe of him. They make a great pair.

"If anything," She says, "You should be interviewing him. His job is way more interesting."

If we had more time, I would. We'll save that for another day.

"He's also the one who's done most work on the house," She admits, knocking her knee against his. "He's the one obsessed with Architectural Digest."

"I am a little, yeah."

"I chose this table though," She leans forward to pat the huge, rectangular chunk of white marble. "I love it."

Wilson nods. "It's a great table."

"Nearly impossible to baby proof," Donahue sighs. "The corners are deadly."

A silent question hangs in the air. If I hadn't already finished my coffee, this is the part where I'd reach for my cup simply to have something to do.

"Not ours," She continues through a short laugh as she realizes—maybe the question is written all over my face. "Not yet, at least. We've gotten a few new additions to our friend group these past years. That age, I suppose."

Those words open up for another long row of possible questions—

Where are they at with the wedding plans, is the engagement turning into a marriage anytime soon? How small or big? Have they planned for kids of their own? If that's the case, would they adopt (Donahue and her sister were adopted)? Would they like to raise their kids in this town? Would that be the moment she'll step back from her swimming career or is she planning on doing both? Are they wishing to minimize the traveling, or are they liking it that way?

—but I remember what she shared about the importance of her privacy, and I figure I'll leave the answers to those questions unanswered. I have a feeling they'll let us know, eventually. Instead, I take my final bow and thank the both of them for their time.

As she follows me out front—where, I realize, a small-yet-not-tiny pool takes up space to the left of the house—Stella (by now, she's insisted on formalities being dropped) gives me a small hug goodbye.

I decide on one last question. Would it be right to assume you're feeling most at peace right now? Not only in this house, or this town, but in this stage of your life?

She ponders this, head tilted to the side. Then, she smiles. A soft, warm smile. "Yeah, I think it would. It's been a long road of hard work, but I'm very content, with what I have."

I can't help it—there's one more thing I want to know. Retirement rumors aside, have you ever thought about quitting?

"Plenty of times. When I was younger, I'd always tell reporters, coaches, anyone who'd listen that this life didn't feel like work at all. But that's not true. It is work. A lot of it. And it's hard work. But it's also the work I want to do—I think a lot of us have that one thing, the thing we want more than anything else—and that's swimming for me. Even on the days everything goes wrong, there's nothing I'd rather be doing."

━ ♡♡♡ ━

author's note:

normalize blowing off studying to write books cause that's more fun!

hi friends!! long time no see! I've missed you. so much actually. this bonus chapter is SO SO SO long overdue. can you believe it's almost been a year and a half since I finished writing the epilogue? (october 2021). how are you all? are you good? 

this is the first time ever I'm making an attempt at writing something in this kind of format, and I don't know if it's ideal (it feels a bit too surface-y) but I had so much fun playing around with it! tell me your thoughts, please

hope this small Jake & Stella dose brought out some smiles <3 

thank you so much for the continuing support on this story. and my other writing as well. 

everything I write has its own space in my heart, the stories are all special to me in such unique ways but 'coming up for air' has always, in a way, felt like more than that, like it's taking up a bigger space. everywhere. maybe that doesn't make sense, but it means a lot, being able to feel that way about something I've written.

I'll see you when I see you

love you lots (like lots lots lots)

linn