What I’m coming to realize is that with every phase of life, or with every reaction to life, you experience a whole new set of “firsts”. Sometimes the way we react to those new firsts are surprising.
In the weeks following my discovery of life not being what I thought it was- I hid in my house. I threw up multiple times a day. My kids made sure I ate at least one meal a day. To say it was a total physical reaction to the news would be an understatement. I had no idea you could hurt that much, or become that physically ill, from a few words being uttered.
Right around weeks 11 and 12 I became functional enough to be in public and not lose my head; or have to run to the restroom again. The vomiting was lightening up, the memories that hit my head weren’t making me panic any longer, I was finally eating at least 2 meals a day. My therapist’s coping suggestions were working more often than not. I wasn’t feeling normal, not even close, but at least I felt like a shadow of myself.
The timing couldn’t have been better. Broken Girl had already started soccer practices with her new team. This new team is completely different than any other team she has ever been part of. The girls are all athletes. Every girl on the squad is good. Every girl on the squad is there because they are competitive. Every girl knows their job on that field is to excel. They train hard, play hard, and they are there for each other no matter what. The team is an extension of the family. Broken Girl needed that. I needed her to have that.
Likewise the parents are incredibly supportive of the team. They travel around to all the games; feeding the girls after every game. There is this feeling created that we take care of each other’s kids no matter what.
I am the only home town parent. So Broken Girl really wanted me to feed the team. I think it was a sense of normalcy for her. I think, for her, it was maybe a stepping stone to knowing that life could go on if I continued that tradition.
Broken Girl was really pushing me to sign up right away. She knows one of my passions in life is to feed armies of people. I’ve always loved it! No crowd is too small, or too large. Despite my love for feeding a crowd I was apprehensive to participate. I didn’t know what they were accustomed to. I didn’t know any of the parents yet. I’d only waved at the girls in passing. Only one had come to the house for dinner over the summer. I was making excuses.
While my confidence was much better than it had been in weeks past, I was convinced it would be one more opportunity for me to realize life had been lying to me. I thought I would fail at yet another thing. Nobody would like the food, we’d end up with leftovers for a month, and once again I’d feel like shit. Mentally I couldn’t wrap my head around why Broken Girl was continually bugging me to sign up.
Eventually, to make Broken Girl happy, I signed up to feed the girls after the first home scrimmage. I was secretly dreading my almost certain failure, but figured I wasn’t living if I wasn’t at least trying to be me again.
Game day I cooked up a huge pork rump roast, cumin black beans, and took a burrito bar to our new soccer family. Broken Girl had been right. It felt good to do something that was 100% me again. The girls and team staff were thrilled to have home cooked food. The specialized diets were accommodated by doing a serving bar. Everybody built their own meal on the way out. Every single girl thanked me for supporting and feeding them. They seemed to genuinely like and appreciate the food. It was a nice welcoming into the family.
As the girls were dishing up the associate head coach walked right up to me and gave me a huge hug. I froze. Totally tensed up. I couldn’t breathe (not in a good way). I’m sure he was thinking, “what the hell is this woman’s problem?”. I shot Broken Girl a panicked look of “what the hell do I do?”. I had a total physical and emotional reaction to a very “normal” action…
I could barely speak by the time he let go of me. I literally had tears in my eyes. I was hit by a flood of emotions from this FIRST…. this was the first hug I’d received in months (from anybody other than my kids). The fact that is was also the first hug I’d received from a man was a double whammy.
Don’t get me wrong. He’s an amazing man from what I can tell. He’s caring toward the parents. The girls are his family. He has everybody’s best interest in mind. I do not believe he has a mean bone in his body. However, this spur of the moment contact left my head spinning. I was instantly hit by apprehension, fear, flight mechanisms, doubt, genuine caring, and his warm personality. It was a highly confusing landslide of emotional sensations. He asked me if I was really alright. I turned into Rain Man. I couldn’t speak clearly, so I gave up and repeated a couple times that I was “getting better”, and “we’ll be fine”. Whatever the hell that meant. My brain was on the fritz. Total sensory overload was happening. He thanked me for the food and made a plate to go.
I’ve felt badly for having such a strong reaction to a totally innocent gesture. Especially because it happened to somebody whom I believe genuinely cares for people in general. I’ve always been a hugger. I repeatedly feel very stupid for having this reaction. How could that part of me die so quickly?
In the end though, I need to remember that things will never be exactly how they were. I’m having to relearn a lot of things, and physical contact or emotional closeness will be hard after what I’ve endured. Trust has always been important to me, and sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be able to trust unconditionally again.
With the help of my supporters, I’m hoping for a full recovery. I’m thankful for that first surprise hug. It opened a door for part of my healing process. I’m slowly getting better one hug at a time from my friends and visitors.
The goal is to trust humanity again, embrace kind gestures as simply being kind, not expecting there to be an ulterior motive all the time, and excel at life. One day I’ll be able to greet people in my life with a hug and a smile again. Hopefully sooner than later.
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