It’s been a year of setbacks. Some of them were personal and some of them were bigger but, cumulatively, I was feeling as though it might be time to put roller derby behind me. It was a big decision and one I truly never expected to make. I often assumed that once I couldn’t play, I’d take on a new role and stay involved but, since I felt like a lot of people would prefer if I died in a fire, saying good-bye felt like what I needed to do.
I started to prepare a little and told my closest confidantes. Their responses were so soothing to my heart. None of them wanted me to go but understood why I’d be considering it. They promised their support in whatever I decided, reminding me that we are friends, derby or not. They say your truest friends are a reflection of you and I am humbled to be in such good company.
My beloved team had a game coming up and I wanted to play with them one more time, planning to announce my intentions soon thereafter. A local photographer was offering a package that, for a truly nominal fee, he would ensure at least 10 decent photos of me from the game. Wanting to indelibly document the evening, I reserved his services. My derby wife and her fiancé would be there to support me and even my husband and son, who hadn’t attended my past several games, planned to come as well. They all knew it would be a hard night and were ready to catch me when I fell.
Then, I attended my first all-league scrimmage in months to say good-bye to some people even if they had no idea that was what I was doing. To my surprise, I had several people corner me privately and tell me that they were happy I was there and that they were sorry about the things that had happened. There were high-fives and laughing. It didn’t feel weird to be there like I thought it would and only two people were rude which was far less than the number in my imagination.
That’s when I decided to stay.
Sometimes things get to be all-encompassing and take on a life of their own. I was isolated in my sadness – partly as a defensive measure to protect myself from sinking further and partly to make sure I couldn’t pull anyone else down with me. I felt like no one cared but, in retrospect, my defenses were so thick that I realize only now that most people had no idea. I deflected others’ concern for me and rebuffed their gestures of friendship. I assumed that everyone shared the thoughts of the loudest few. Everything was so much closer to normal than I imagined and I was being judged based on face value and nothing more. It’s embarrassing, as a woman in her 40s, to admit that I let it get this bad but I am so relieved to know the truth.
Going into the weekend’s game was so much different than how I had prepared for it. I was happy and excited. I interacted with my teammates more than they were likely used to. My support team/fan club all decided to come anyway, more in celebration than in sorrow. The game itself was fun and exhausting. It made me realize how much I still want to accomplish so I am triumphantly pushing forward.
This week, I have busted out the old me – the real me – and I am so incredibly glad to be back.
Eric took these. So grateful for his constant love and support.
Cinder Block 