Something I've learned in the past few years, is that its often hard for us humans to just let others sit in their grief. To really give people space to grieve, without trying to put a positive spin on the situation.
Maybe I'm unique and others appreciate that optimism during the grief process, but when someone who is not in my situation wants to shine a positive light on it FOR me, I tend to push back. Because my pain is my own. And while I am sure that many of the positivities are true, it doesn't mean that I'm ready to hear them.
My body has brought me great joy in this lifetime, it has also brought devastating grief.
The reason is simple. I'm an athlete. That is just part of my identify.
If you ask anyone who knew me in high school to describe me during that time, I'm sure that almost every person would mention soccer. I loved everything about the game. The community. The feeling of pushing yourself to your limit. The sweet feel of victory and even the bitter taste of defeat. I worked my ass off to achieve what I was able to. Because I tore my ACL the first time right before my junior year, and then my second ACL half way through my junior season, I didn't have anything to show potential college recruiters. But I knew if I worked hard enough I could walk onto a Division One team. And I did. I put in miles on the track by myself, hours on the field doing skill work, by myself. Playing every single chance I got.
All the hard work and pain paid off when I made the Liberty soccer team. Then halfway through the season I was hurt again. I went into surgery with the doctor optimistic that it was just a meniscus tear and I'd rehab and play again the next season. I came out of surgery to find out that my ACL had been torn and that I would likely never play soccer again.
It was devastating. The grief process was long. I lost my sense of identify when I lost the version of myself that belonged out on a soccer pitch. Watching my teammates head out on a trip to an away game while staying behind in the dorms was heart breaking. I knew that if I tried to play again, my knee wouldn't survive it. Even simple things like kicking a ball often caused my knee to shift as my ACL couldn't hold it. Last fall when we were together with Ryan's family a bunch of the kids were playing soccer. The ball came towards me and when I tried to kick it back up over a small wall I could barely do it. My nephew turned to his dad and laughingly said "I thought you said Aunt Lacey played in college". I would be lying if I said that I didn't come home and cry.
A few years later I found running. I'm guessing that just about anyone who knows me now, knows how much I love to run. For a lot of the same reasons as I loved soccer. Pushing my limits, the camaraderie of my running friends, crazy adventures together to races, plus, I was really good at it.
Well, needless to say I was very happy when we decided I was a good candidate for a partial knee replacement. It meant that, while I might have to cut back on running, I would still be able to do it! So, it felt like deja vu last week when I sat in my doctor's office and he looked at my knee and told me the partial replacement hadn't worked. The ACL wasn't able to hold the implant in place. If you haven't seen the X-rays it a pretty good representation of the awful situation my knee was in and why my pain was so bad (you could say I'm somewhat famous (i.e. freak of nature status) at my physical therapy office).
So I knew what conversation my doctor and I were going to have when I woke up from my surgery on Monday. My running days are over. Done.
And that, is really, really hard to come to terms with. So, I am again going through a grieving process over part of my identify. And I just need to sit in it. And give myself time to adjust. Hopefully with a minimum of well meaning, but unnecessary, attempts by others to make my situation seem better.
