Intro to “Breather Posts”

 

As I was re-listening to Dr. Phil Monroe’s talk from last week’s post, I was reminded of the need to take a breather from the heavy things in life when attempting to heal from trauma. He reminded me that calming and grounding techniques are essential when engaging our stories of pain. There is a cost in discussing something as serious as spiritual abuse so regularly. As I continue to prioritize my own healing and want to be conducive to the healing of others, I will begin writing something I’ll call a “Breather Post”. 

 

The point of a “Breather Post” is to bring some stories and lighter topics to discuss that are unrelated to religious trauma. Several months ago, I was given the opportunity to begin writing for our neighborhood’s Stroll Magazine. Each month I get to focus my creative brain on writing something fun, and often uplifting. It has been a nice break from the usual focus, but now, I’m so very glad I get to share some of that lightheartedness with you, the readers of my blog! 

 

Without further ado, here is my first Breather Post.

 

 

 

“BE AGGRESSIVE!” I can still hear my mom shouting at me from the sidelines of my soccer game. She yelled it over and over again as the soccer ball moved closer to our team’s goal. You see, I was only about eight years old, timid, and had a fancy for girlish things. I didn’t even know what “aggressive” meant, but I translated it to mean, “Don’t be afraid!” That just had to be the message she was sending me because the girls on the other team were good ball handlers and some were much, much bigger than me. 

 

I played soccer for several of my elementary years. I felt most comfortable on defense which I learned seemed to be my strongest position in most sports. Although I was a quiet child who adored babies and loved painted nails, I also loved to compete. Whether it be board games, card games, or almost any competitive sport; I was in. 

 

Right before my junior year of high school began my family moved to a much more rural area. My social life completely reset. Not only did I not know anyone, but the conversations that were being had around me consisted of riding horses and talks about plans to go shooting on the weekends. My older brother and I drove past cornfields every day on the way to school. Those last few years of high school were quite the out-of-place experience. I felt like I had been plopped down in a different world. 

 

However, there was one thing I could count on being the same; gym class. It quickly became my favorite time of the day. Everyone would rush down the high school halls, fly down the back stairways, and run into their locker rooms to get changed into their gym uniforms hoping to get one of the last few spots of their favorite activity. Basketball and floor hockey were some of the most popular options that would fill up quickly. Many people would make a mad dash barefoot while holding their gym shoes just to make the cut. 

 

There was one time I was fast enough to make it to floor hockey. This was a favorite amongst the boys. When the gym teacher saw that I had taken the last spot I’m pretty sure I saw him roll his eyes a bit. I knew I didn’t look the part of someone who’d enjoy a good game of hockey, but there was rarely a place in that school where I fit in anyway. 

 

As the game began, I made it clear that I had finally learned the true meaning of playing aggressively. Towards the middle part of the game, I got into a tussle trying to get the puck out of my team’s territory. I swung the hockey stick hard just as the teen on the other team did and ended up getting my thumb caught between the two sticks. As I continued to play I realized my finger had begun bleeding. I tried ignoring it, but soon it was clear it was going to need some type of bandaging. Ugh. I hated Band-Aids. I still do. They are only useful until your next hand washing or shower when the time comes for you to have to peel a sticky adhesive off your wound, or worse, leave a soggy one on!

 

I walked over to the gym teacher and let him know that I thought I needed, cringe, a Band-Aid. Definitely not the impression or conversation I wanted to have with Mr. Rolling Eyes. He barely looked at me and told me to wait as he focused on the game and let out a deep sigh. Meanwhile, my thumb continued to pulse and blood began to pool on the floor.

 

After a few more minutes I politely interrupted him again and said, “I’m sorry, but I’m making a bit of a mess. Do you think I can run to the washroom to grab a paper towel?” As he looked down and saw the bloody floor, his naturally protruding eyes popped out even more. He jumped up and started leading me straight out to the gym teacher’s office to find a first aid kit. I chuckled a bit as I watched him grapple for the supplies. I still chuckle.

 

As I’ve grown even older I’ve realized that that game-loving girl never grew out of me. The last few summers I’ve played volleyball in our neighborhood’s volleyball league and even more recently, a friend invited me to a women’s indoor soccer scrimmage. That was a lung-crushing good time. I couldn’t remember the last time that I had raced another woman to kick a ball. There wasn’t a lot of time for recovery breaks, but at any pause in the sprinting, I thought, wow, this is intense! We fell on our bottoms, overextended our muscles, and I nearly got pelted in the face. Such a good time! Completely worth hobbling around for the next week.

 

Many of the ladies playing soccer were mothers, their children sat in the stands watching their mom’s athletic capabilities on full display. One woman was actually five months pregnant! With her fourth child!!

 

I was in awe of these women. This was a very different picture of motherhood than the one I had composed in my head for so many years. I have to admit that for nearly the first nine years of being a mother, I packed up my interests and many of my talents. My understanding was that my family needed me to constantly be cooking, cleaning, feeding, working, and supervising. A mother’s work is never done? Isn’t that the saying?

 

My interests were going to have to wait, maybe until all the kids were off to college. At least, that’s what I had previously thought! I’m so grateful my ideas have evolved surrounding motherhood. I can see now that doing something that I enjoy matters too and that practicing those things brings value to the world around me. Breaking through these old mindsets was even necessary for me to be able to create this blog. Finding time to nurture and grow who I am has not only increased my quality of life but also has reframed what I am capable of. 

 

How about you? If you’re a parent, what interests do you regularly participate in? If you’ve stopped due to daily life responsibilities, what activities would you pick up again if you could make time for it? Is it possible to fit it into your schedule? What about your spouse? Can you encourage them to pick up some of their pre-parenting interests?