April 8, 2010

Own Worst Enemy

Three years ago, if you asked me "Who are you?" I could tell you easily. I had a strong sense of self and knew who I was. Today, not so much.

Growing up, I was extremely athletic. I had no interest in television. I only wanted to play with the boys, whether it was kickball, baseball, softball or a good game of tag, I was always ready for whatever activities the day brought with it. When I was younger, I was an all-star softball player, did two seasons of swimming, took up figure skating for a while, played field hockey and ran track for a season. I spent my summers doing anything but relaxing on the beach. I was too busy to do that. I played volleyball for hours a day while on vacation, and when I wasn't doing that, I was playing tennis until I nearly collapsed from exhaustion.

Then I found karate and that became my new obsession. I would make dinner and do kata while waiting for things to cook. I would come home from class and practice self defense techniques on Mr. BBM for hours. For years, he wasn't even able to hug me if I wasn't expecting it, because otherwise I'd be trying my techniques out on him. I imagined myself as one of those karate-ka that people looked up to. I had hopes of re-igniting a self defense program and becoming a leader on that topic. I saw it as a lifetime endeavor and it was something that I absolutely loved. It was all I could talk about for several years.

And then I tore my ACL and everything changed.

The worst part about tearing my ACL was losing the confidence I had in my body, in myself. It's something that I thought returning to karate would conquer. For a while, it did. When I was training for shodan testing, I spent hours every day working out and preparing. I pushed myself both physically and mentally like never before. But the little voice of doubt and the fear never really left.

After the second surgery, I thought I would bounce back, but it only made me more afraid. It's a legitimate fear. If you tear an ACL for the second time, revision surgeries aren't as successful; and having gone through the pain and agony of one, I can't say I'd ever be eager to go through that period of my life again.

Last week, after my new surgeon told me to limit all activities and stop working out, karate and running altogether, I asked my instructors to put my monthly karate withdrawal on hold again. All these months, when I've only been going once or twice a month because it has taken a good two weeks for my knee to return to normal post karate class, I've been paying and hoping. It was like I thought if I continued to pay, that I'd still be active in karate. I know, full well, I'm not.

I've been grumpier than ever these past few months. I've flown off the handle on several occasions. Telling people off has become my new past time, and I don't like who I am right now.

Little pieces of me have been pulled apart and off in so many directions that I am struggling to figure out what I'm supposed to do and who I'm supposed to be now.

It's not as simple as having a third surgery and getting back to it. It's so much more than that. The fear is out of control. The anger and frustration is at levels I've never felt before.

I'm mad that every physical activity brings with it limitations, self-doubt or outright fear. I'm angry that I can't take my girls roller skating or ice skating like other parents do. I hate that when Lil C asks me to play soccer with her, I usually have to tell her "I can't," or I do and then have to quit far sooner than I want to because my knee doesn't feel right, or I pay for it later in the form of a swollen and painful knee.

I'm downright furious that I am having to go through this all again, and I'll be honest, I don't know how to deal with it.

The other day when I was driving home from campus, I heard Pink's song "Don't Let Me Get Me" and the part "I'm my own worst enemy" hit home for me.

I don't know who I am anymore; and while I know that beating myself up about it isn't a productive thing to do, it seems to be the only thing I know how to do anymore.