THE SIDELINES
I can feel guilt trying to sneak in, a wave of worthlessness attempting to break around the corner of my mind. It’s funny how these suggestions come, funny in an altogether tragic way, bouncing around unchecked between my thoughts and emotions until I recognize the havoc they intend to ensue.
But the heart knows better and I will not be surprised by the intruders this time.
Not this time.
In a few short days my husband and boys will complete a triathlon, their first joint competition of the summer in their second season of this type of father-son bonding. I both love and hate watching them race - their return from both the swim and the bike segments brings a sense of relief, their crossing of the finish line a sense of complete pride.
They are training, competing, conquering, AND they are doing it together - what more could I ask for? How could this bring me nothing but pure, unadulterated joy?
How could this possibly find the unwelcome visitors of guilt and worthlessness knocking on my mind’s door?
There was a time I could have been out there with them - swimming, biking, running, showing off my version of athletic prowess. I have crossed such finish lines before my boys were born and a variety of others when they were far too young to remember.
It’s funny the ways we decide that we are failing, funny in an altogether tragic way.
They are racing and I am not. Guilt takes a couple knocks on the door.
Race day brings one of my favorite atmospheres. Want to feel encouraged and celebrated by a group of complete strangers? Compete in one of these races. And as we unload the car and my men take to the staging area to prepare their bikes and running gear for each transition, I know I will miss being one of the racers, miss the impending sense of accomplishment.
They are racing and I am not. Worthlessness takes its turn with the rapping.
It’s funny the ways we decide that we are not enough, funny in an altogether tragic way.
The truth is my body has asked me to be kind to it these days, to listen to the subtle and screaming ways it has spent years trying to tell me it has had enough. Fitness is an ever-present part of my life, but it now looks different. My guess is age and circumstances humble most of us, at least at some point.
But even removed from the physical limitations of my body, to what motivation would I bend in joining my men in their triathlon endeavors? In this small group comprised of my husband and boys I most certainly ‘belong’ - why do my emotions scream that perhaps I am not enough?
It is the battle of the mind that forever wages.
I wish I was not writing these words, I wish I could tell you that I never struggle with arguably irrational suggestions of guilt and worthlessness, but in speaking their name I declare that I will not be held prisoner. Here I am, world, crazy emotions and all.
And then my inner friend speaks…
The warring within does not make you weak, it just makes you human.
The threats against your identity are not a fault, but an opportunity for a beautiful display of strength.
So this weekend as my men cross the finish line and bow low to allow the medals around their necks I will cheer loud and remember - I have not failed, my identity is not defined here. Emotions can rumble and swell but I know who I am.
Valuable. Precious. Strong.
Superwoman may feel like she is on the sideline, but her heart knows that she is very much in the fight. This weekend the words written on my heart may be challenged, but they will remain perfectly unmarred.
Valuable. Precious. Strong.
A superwoman, indeed.