Defining Moments

I have been thinking A LOT lately about this battle with IF.  There are lots of what ifs in my head that often times take over my thoughts.  It got me thinking about whether or not I can actually handle all of this...

I believe all of us have a story, moments that have made us who we are, defining moments.  My defining moment has been pushed deep down to a dark place that I don't often go to. 

Growing up basketball was MY LIFE.  I began playing (not exactly sure) around 8 or 9, a few years after that I began to play AAU.  AAU basketball means, I was playing for a team during the offseason.  I ate, drank, and slept basketball.  My dad coached me since the time I can remember.  We used to spend days/night in the driveway and in the basement perfecting my dribbling moves all building up to what I hoped to be a Division I scholarship to play basketball in college.  While other kids my age were going to parties, hanging out at the mall, I was travelling to DC, Tennessee, and everywhere else to play the game I loved.

In high school I scored over 1,000 points, led my AAU team to the State Championship, and was offered multiple Division I scholarships...I DID IT!

However, as the saying goes, nothing is as good as it seems.  I was the only freshman who decided not to live with another basketball player, like I said in a previous email, I like my own space.  I wanted to make my own friends, have some kind of life outside of basketball.  Well, when you sign on the dotted line, there is no life outside of basketball.  The first few months went well, I practiced hard, got used to college life, and was pretty damn proud of my accomplishment.

Unfortunately, my coach was not what I believed him to be.  My father has always been extremely hard on me which was often times hard to handle and resulted in lots of slammed doors at home, but he was always honest.  If I sucked, he told me.  My college coach was different, he was sneaky, he played mind games, he was abusive (not in a punch you or slap you kind of way, it was different.)  My coach had these huge goals for me but wasn't willing to give me the time I needed to develop into that role, it was now or never.  When time was up, he decided he was going to humiliate me, hoping that would force me to step up to the challenge.  I still remember getting to Syracuse (yes, the same Syracuse that is in the Men's NCAA Tourney) and getting pulled aside with one other freshman and being told while the rest of the team warmed up for our game, we would be running sprints on the sideline.  Another time we played a team close to home, I had a lot of hometown fans come to see me play, he refused to play me, I was the only one that didn't get in the game.  He was trying to hit me where it hurt. It was around February when I decided I had taken enough abuse.  The season was winding down and the finish line was in sight.  Until, we made the NIT tournament.  It was then, that I made a decision...I was going to go talk to my coach.

I don't remember walking into the gym, or into his office.  I sort of remember telling him that I couldn't do it anymore: my knees were in terrible shape, I missed home, and I didn't deserve the abuse.  But what I do remember is his response:  "The team was counting on me, if I left the team I would forever be considered a failure."  What a crock of shit, I barely got in the games at this point, it was just more mind games.  I left the meeting convinced I was done, I had stood up to the person that had a hand in destroying my childhood dreams.

Or so I thought, just a half hour later my dorm room phone rang.  It was my two assistant coaches asking to be let into my room.  I figured they wanted to come up to console me or try and pump me up so of course I let them up.  I couldn't have been more wrong.  They came in my room, closed the door, and told me they were not leaving until I changed my mind.  If they had to, they were going to drag me to practice kicking and screaming, and they did.  Well, not the kicking and screaming part, but I was forced to wipe away the tears and go to practice that afternoon. 

I did end up leaving that school after my freshman year and transferring to a Division II school to live out my basketball dream elsewhere.  Unfortunately, I just didn't have it in me, I had been beaten down and was no longer the same person I had been.  I only lasted there the Fall Semester, and this time I had my mom with me to tell the coach.  I can still remember his words, "What the hell did that guy do to you?"  He was referencing my coach freshman year; it was then that I realized I was broken, I had lost myself, my spark. 

It was not until about 6 years ago, when I got my first teaching job that I slowly began to find myself again, that spark for life I have always had.

I transferred for a third time, burying what had happened deep down.  College was ok, and I was extremely lucky that my parents could afford to get me a great education, but when I think of those 4 years the only word that comes to mind is surviving.  I survived.  I did seek out therapy, but it didn't last.  Upon leaving my first session my therapist told me that just the night before she had been shooting hoops with her little girl in the driveway thinking about how great it would be if her daughter could play Division I basketball?  Did she not hear anything I just said???

I was in the grocery store a few weeks ago (we still live in the same town I went to high school) and noticed a man staring at me.  I could tell he recognized me but I had no idea who he was.  He eventually made his way over to me and said, "Do you ever pick up a ball anymore, you were great to watch."  I graduated from high school over 10 years ago!  I also get a kick out of a story P told me just a few months ago.  He was talking to a fellow coworker and somehow it got mentioned who he was married to (me.)  His coworker immediately started shaking his head in disbelief.  He had a daughter that plays basketball in high school now for a rival town.  When he heard my name he almost fell over, telling P that the school his daughter plays for used to refer to me as Lindsay EFFING V (V being the first letter of my maiden name) because it was so hard to stop me. 

While those types of comments bring a smile to my face and remind me of a time basketball was my everything, they also bring haunting memories.  No one really knows what I went through and to this day I don't think I have fully dealt with the loss of my dream. 

I try not to think about college very often.  It was a very sad time for me.  I still don't know if I was strong in walking away, or weak in not being able to suck it up, as so many college athletes do.  I like to think I was strong to be able to walk away.  A free ride wasn't worth it to me, I was worth more.

Some may be wondering what this post has to do with infertility.  I think it has EVERYTHING to do with it.  In my life there have been very few things I have strived to attain with my whole heart.  Playing basketball was one, having a baby is another.  I will not allow another dream to be destroyed.  I am stronger today than I was 10 years ago and I will survive.  This struggle will not define me.  I will not succumb to it, the way I did to that coach and I can handle it.