I’m So Proud Of You –Your 10 Step Guide to Athlete Support

This is a blog bout losing. Sports is a lot about character development and teamwork, it’s about strategy and nutrition, but a lot of it is about results. At the end of the day we all want to feel like the sacrifices are “worth it” and in the eyes of many, that “worth it” is really tied up with which step of the podium you end up on. Of course the goal here, for optimal health, is to not set goals around results. Goals in general should always be process oriented, predicated on things you can control. But it doesn’t mean athletes don’t get gutted by poor results or performances, and often when you are in a support role to an athlete, it feels like you never say the right thing.

Chances are, if you’re reading this blog, you’ve been in that moment. I know I have, both on the receiving and giving end many, many times. Whether you’re an athlete or the parent, partner, relative, friend or fan of an athlete, read up for a 10 step guide on how to support an athlete after a bad result or performance. If these steps don’t work, blame my sports psychologist. Or my parents, probably. 

Step One

You know what they say about assuming. (Don’t fucking do it. That’s what they say, right?)

I can’t tell you the number of times it has happened to me or a friend. You feel absolutely jazzed about a PR or a top 10, and a well-meaning family member will say, “Oh, you must be so disappointed.” Well Janet, I wasn’t disappointed but now you are making me feel like maybe… I should be? A surefire way to get on the same wavelength as the athlete you’re supporting is simply to ask: “How are you feeling about your result?” If they are feeling jazzed about it, it’s easy to get on the jazzed bandwagon. Your journey as supportive friend just became a lot easier. Put your own feelings aside and start gushing, Janet! “Omg!” “That’s incredible!” “So proud of you.” If you ask and indeed they are feeling shitty about it, proceed to Step #2. Important to note that this question is always a good question whether your friend got 1st or 111th. Leaving space for athlete emotions and feelings will always be your best first clue to how best to support them. 

Step Two

Okay, so you have a bummed athlete. Bummer. I find the most helpful second step is checking back in with their feelings. Something along the lines of “Do you want to talk about it?” or “I’m so sorry you feel that way. How can I best support you right now?” The things I think to avoid in step two are jumping in with your own interpretations or feedback on what went wrong. Unless you are this athlete’s coach, or they have specifically asked you for feedback, this is a body glide level slippery slope. “You should have just shot the ball!” “You needed to use your arms more!” “You should have pushed a little harder on the hills!” That type of feedback in that type of moment is just not helpful to anyone. It’s so tempting, and usually comes from a good place, but it really is like telling someone who fell out of a tree that they should have held on better. Just don’t do it.

Okay, let’s say you’ve held inner Coack K at bay and asked a very Brené Brown style “how can I help” question. Your athlete says, “fuck off.” 

Step Three

You fuck off. Come back later. 

Step Four

We’re back at your Brené Brown question, and your athlete says something like, “I just can’t believe that happened” or, “I’m such a loser” or, “This guy gets me every time, I’ll never win.” In my experience, this is the trickiest scenario for the support person. Because the knee jerk response goes one of two directions: either empty encouragement or more tree holding advice. The empty encouragement is the category of “You’ll get him next time!” “You’re so young still!” “This race doesn’t even matter!” It’s non actionable, and usually it makes promises that the athlete knows are empty. “You’ll win this race someday,” or some variation is such a common way to encourage athletes, but it’s just not true, or really that helpful. Your athlete might never win a single race. They might get injured and never compete again. The tree-holding advice has been covered in step two. Still not super helpful in the scenario where your athlete is opening up to you, unless your athlete explicitly asks for it. Also, it’s worth acknowledging that this is a very tough moment for the support team! Just like athletic performance, you will probably get it wrong and coach up your athlete in the wrong moment. Give yourself some grace but DO BETTER NEXT TIME. 

Step Five

Okay, so what might you say that might actually help your athlete deal with a tough performance? You’re a parent and your child has just blown the game by letting 6 goals past her. She slams the door and says, “I suck.” When any athlete performs badly and translates that result into “I suck,” they are conflating the result with their identity. Therefore, the correct response to this is to remind them that this result has nothing to do with who they are, only what they did. A good response for a child is literally the same response to anyone who feels like they are a bad person because they had a bad performance.  “I loved getting to watch you.” “I love seeing you play.” “I’m so proud of you, always.” “A result will never change the way I feel about you.” “I’m so honored I get to be here with you.” “Your journey is so amazing.” “You’re an awesome person.” “I love you so much.” You’d be surprised how much athletes of all ages behave like children. But don’t we all want to hear, “I’m proud of you?” It might not fix the situation, but hearing, “I loved watching you” is better every time than, “You should have protected the left side of the net.” This I can 1000% promise you. 

Step Six

Let’s say your bummed out athlete says something different. Same bummed out child, but she says “I’ll never be good enough at soccer to win.” Or your friend says, “All of this was a waste of time, I did even worse than last year.” (YIKES.) This is another super sticky situation! And I too have been made uncomfortable trying to console friends who say stuff like this. It feels stupid, contradictory and unhelpful to simply refute the claim, “I’m not good enough,” (“Omg yes you are!”) because, frankly, according to the rules of le sports, they weren’t! They lost! But we all know that millions of people do sports, and only a fraction of us win. If the situation feels calm enough, this could be a moment to have a convo about why your athlete does sports anyway. You could ask, “Is soccer only about winning for you?” If your child says yes, then there are other fish to fry. If you can get them to admit that no, they like spending time with their friends, they like running around, kicking the ball etc., then you can help remind them that they will always be good enough to enjoy soccer. No one gets to take that from them, ever. Same thing applies to your friend, whether she’s a weekend warrior or an Olympian. If her sacrifices aren’t feeling worth it, try to help her remember why she plays. If winning is the only thing that matters, maybe she needs a new gig. 

Step Seven

Let’s say you have an unconsolable athlete. Nothing you say seems to help. Maybe someone who even says, “You always say the wrong thing!” Or “I don’t want you to come to my next race.” Something that so many of us who are involved in sports have to come to terms with is the part we play in another person’s journey. Whether your athlete is 3 or 93, their athletic journey is their own. Your relationship to an athlete does not guarantee you access to their emotions or big moments. If you’re a parent or team manager, your relationship could guarantee you decision-making rights, but the most happy and motivated athletes have been proven to be ones that have maximal autonomy over their athletic decisions. If your child is an athlete and she says, “I don’t want you to be at the race,” she is taking a huge risk. She is trusting you to respect her choices about what she needs to do her best, while also trusting you to know that she loves you just the same. It’s not about you. She loves you, but something about your presence is hindering her performance. One more time for the people in the back: it’s not about you. 

Step Eight

Step eight is about you. I want to make it very clear that none of this is easy. As support people for others in sports, we work very, very hard. And we *never* see the podium, or get the public recognition that support really deserves. Sports is a massive effort that’s like an iceberg: the athlete floats along up top and there’s a massive team of people holding up from underneath. It can be absolutely crushing to hear, “I don’t want you here” after you’ve given so much of yourself to this person or project. But being a truly supportive person for anyone in life means if what they are asking for is less from you rather than more, that you give them just that. 

Step Nine

There’s a decent chance that everything I’ve written in here is totally unique to me and absolute garbage to the ears of your athlete. If all else fails, go back to step one, with a twist. When your athlete is in a good mood, ask them what they would like to hear, both when they do well, and when things don’t go their way. Simply ask, “What are your goals for today?” “If you do/don’t reach them, how can I best support you?” This conversation will signal to your athlete that you really care about them and want to center their experience. Even having this conversation with a very young athlete can be fruitful. Learning their one and only goal is “to win!” will help set you up for failure later on. So it could be a moment to help set more process oriented goals and then help them celebrate achieving those later even if they lose. 

Step Ten

If you’ve made it all the way to step ten, congrats! You officially really care about the athlete in your life. And that, my friends, is the only thing that really matters at the end of the day. Remind your athlete how much you like them, just the way they are. Everything else is temporary, and hopefully their mood won’t last long. 

Good luck!

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Written by Skyler Espinoza

Photo Credit to Nico Sandi

Professional

The first time I met Charlie was in a large group of girls on a Strong Girls United Zoom call. I was just starting to get involved with the organization I would later work for for more than three years, and I was drawn to Charlie’s ease, her confidence and her dynamism. At the end of the call our prompt was to share a big dream goal. I have a strong memory of Charlie flipping her paper towards her camera, and seeing the Olympic rings drawn there. Charlie, in her strong, clear voice, shared with all of us that she wanted to be an Olympian one day. I think why that moment has stuck with me is because, looking at her little Zoom square, I thought: she has no clue what pursuing those little rings is going to feel like. And, to be honest, neither did I. I sat down to chat with Charlie about her path and what her dreams are now, and am so excited to introduce her to all of you. 

Charlie first discovered volleyball in 6th grade, when she went to a YMCA indoor clinic. She told me that it wasn’t until after that fateful clinic that she found out volleyball was a part of her DNA. Charlie’s mom had both played and coached volleyball, but hadn’t told Charlie before because she didn’t want to force her daughter’s hand. I love that Charlie’s path to volleyball was her own, but I can’t help wondering whether that feeling of legacy merged with the way the ball felt in her hands, and made Charlie fall even deeper in love. 

Charlie wanted to play volleyball. 

Charlie’s true love was still waiting for her, on the beaches of San Diego. Beach volleyball tryouts were just a few weeks after the YMCA clinic, and Charlie was awful. However, she could see the potential: both in the sport and herself. There was something here for her, all she had to do was continue to reach for it. She fucking reached. Beach started to take up more and more of Charlie’s time: by her sophomore year of high school she had committed to college and was practicing 5 days a week (4 days twice a day) with tournaments almost every weekend. 

Charlie would one day be a professional volleyball player. 

The path forward was always crystal clear in Charlie’s mind: she was going to college to then play professionally to then go to the Olympics. Charlie’s real life path followed many of the same steps that she dreamed up. She had an incredible career at Stanford University: learning, growing her game and her skill, making friends, studying and dreaming. But as college went on, the dream changed.

Charlie wanted to be a professional volleyball player. 

But Charlie also wanted other things. She wanted to be happy. She wanted to see her family and she wanted to start a company with her friends. Charlie wanted more for her life than 5 little rings. She knew that if she wanted to be an Olympian, that identity would be her important one. She’s no longer willing to sacrifice parts of her life that she once thought she could do without. Listening to her, I felt jealous. She’s so much younger than me but already figured out what I think is one of the most difficult lessons in sports: sport can ask you to sacrifice so much, and it’s okay to say no. It’s okay to say yes to this, but no to that. It’s okay to be excited about this bit, and say goodbye to that bit. 

Charlie is a professional volleyball player. 

The first time she said this out loud, I told her I love that she says that. I have a hard time saying that I’m a professional cyclist, because I cannot make a living riding my bike. I have always, and will always, have a side gig of some kind. Charlie responded that if she’s going to put in all of the work of being a professional volleyball player, then she’s going to call herself that. She also pointed out that even the best of the best aren’t really making a living, so that’s an inappropriate metric anyway. She says that she is doing the exact same thing that her competitors who are going to Paris next year are: her effort and dedication are the same. 

This recent article from Parity sent huge shockwaves around the women’s sports community. It details not how much female athletes make, but how much it costs to be a female athlete. According to their research, it costs close to $10,000 per month to be a beach volleyball player. The article also argues that, largely, women’s sports would not exist without the investment of individual athletes. We work side hustles so that we can pay the exorbitant tournament fees so that there are tournaments to play in. We bring revenue to host cities, we buy equipment and pay coaches. 

Charlie is a professional. 

Charlie’s story is a living, breathing testament to this research. Charlie shared that she has gone into debt to play volleyball. Has been unsure if she can make rent to play volleyball. If Charlie and women like her weren’t professional volleyball players, didn’t make these sacrifices, there would be no professional women’s volleyball in the United States. If I weren’t a cyclist, and all my friends didn’t also pay the stupid registration fees we have to find a way to afford, there wouldn’t be cycling in the United States. If we don’t choose this path, there won’t be a path for the girls and young women coming up through the ranks.

As one of the women who makes this profession possible, Charlie has every right to call herself a professional. She is an expert, and her commitment has made ripples throughout the sports world. Because of athletes like her, girls can look up and see a future for themselves that includes real life and sports. There is a future that includes love, happiness, creativity, friendship and the power that comes with the rush of chasing dreams. 

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Follow Charlie on Instagram here, check out her work on the Strong Girls Pod here, and watch out for her in your local beach vb tournaments!

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Written by Skyler Espinoza

Photo cred to Han Duong

Sport Psychology Needs Feminists Too

Can you imagine if there were two marathon lengths? A women’s and a men’s length? Two thirds of the way through 26.2 miles there would be a cute little pink off ramp which the ladies would take while the men went on to the official finish line. Sounds ridiculous, right? That’s what Erin Ayala thought when she transitioned from running marathons to bike racing. It’s incredibly common in all cycling scenes for the women’s race distance or time to be some fraction of the men’s. It’s commonplace to have different prize purses, different races available, different sponsors and different levels of investment. In the cycling world, many of us have just accepted these differences. Erin is one of those rare and wonderful people who, when she sees something wrong, she works to fix it.

Sport psychology is a tricky business for a lot of athletes. As athletes, it’s difficult for us to acknowledge that we need help with our mental health: I have often felt judged by mental health professionals for talking about problems that are not of the trauma variety, but rather the self-inflicted athletic stress variety. Often, as athletes, we gravitate towards practitioners who have our shared experience: doctors who were (or are) athletes themselves. Someone who understands us, and will not ask “Can’t you just stop?” (I’ve had multiple therapists ask me a version of this question.)

I first met Erin over a Zoom call, when she became my sport psychologist. One of the first conversations we had was what we would do if we ever raced against one another. She’s an elite cyclist from the midwest, and I mostly race on the east coast and California so it was unlikely, but not impossible. Right away, I felt seen and understood. Fast forward a few years and I’m no longer one of the athletes Erin works with, but she’s still a role model for me and one of the changemakers in the cycling scene in the US: as a racer, a leader, a researcher, a teammate, a friend and a psychologist. But, often in the same way we imagine our teachers live at the school, I knew very little about how Erin feels about her athlete/researcher/psychologist identity. She was generous enough to sit down with me and chat about her winding path that’s led her to her current rabble rousing and general badassery. 

Erin didn’t grow up riding bikes: she didn’t even grow up identifying as an athlete. She described herself, with a smile, as a “mediocre JV athlete,” dabbling in bowling, track and field, cross country, volleyball and basketball. As high school came to a close Erin traded in her bowling ball for beer and cigarettes, and settled into a comfortable routine with both. It’s hard to imagine the woman who is training for her 4th 200 mile gravel race this summer coasting on her bike in college with a cigarette between her fingers, but such was her training regimen back in the day. 

Erin’s PhD program in counseling psychology brought her to upstate New York, and also brought her to a moment of realization. Often it’s said about the greats of Russian literature that they created such thought-provoking art because it’s too fucking cold in Russia to do anything else. Perhaps the same can be said of upstate New York. Erin was really proud of her work: her research and her resume, but wasn’t comfortable with “all this.” As she shared this with me, she gestured with her hand over her chest. I wondered if she knew somehow that there would be many people over her life, over Zoom, in her little home office, saying “Erin, I don’t feel comfortable here,” while making a similar gesture; indicating their heart.

Never one to do things by halves, Erin went from smoking to a marathon in ten months. The marathons would eventually lead her to cycling (with a detour through triathlons), and the marathons would also lead her into sport psychology. While pursuing her PhD, Erin’s department chair needed someone to teach the undergraduate sport psych summer class. Erin! Erin runs marathons! Erin can teach this class! Erin thought long and hard before agreeing to this assignment. At the time, she didn’t want anything to do with sports: she saw sports as a dark place where good people got caught in the cycle of achievement and loss, and where athletes were treated as less than human to serve the capitalist machines of the big leagues. A mentor encouraged her to see the possibility of making a difference where a difference is desperately needed. She said, “sport psychology needs feminists too.” 

Fast forward just a handful of years, and Erin is an elite bike racer in the US scene, is one of the founders of Stamina Racing Collective (a team out of Minnesota whose “goal is to strengthen and diversify the pipeline of FTW (Femme/Trans/Women) riders in competitive cycling through mentorship, community development, and accessibility.), and, as of this year, the founder of Skadi Sport Psychology, her own sport psychology practice. She’s not accepting new clients because her practice is already full. 

I asked Erin how she manages all of those identities and responsibilities. Most of the time I can barely train and also cook dinner. Erin says that a more “traditional” mindset encourages women to separate and compartmentalize their identities. She has been told that she should be “less political” as an athlete, and to not confuse her work with her hobbies. But Erin sees these inter and overlapping identities as the core of her strength, and also what motivates and excites her.

As a female cyclist, Erin comes up against the gender disparities and inequities on a personal level, and gets to process them with her community. She also then has first person experience to more fully understand the athletes she works with as a psychologist. Then she gets to go back to the people who are making decisions in cycling, and recognize they won’t be convinced without data. Well, how cool is it that she has a freaking doctorate and can create and publish studies that illustrate the lived experiences of WTFNB athletes in cycling. This in turn brings the cycle full circle, and creates positive change for everyone. Her activism as a professional is the same flavor of her activism as an athlete and a teammate. She’s so passionate about what she does, the passion simply can’t stop spreading. It doesn’t have limits and it pours over into everything she does, and to know her is to feel a tiny piece of that magic transferred from her to you. 

So here’s to activism and enthusiasm without limits. Cheers to a passion without borders, and a strength that perseveres. Here’s to being the problem solvers we wish we had, and the teammates we’ve always wanted. Cheers to you Erin: we’re all so lucky to have you out there creating the best sort of trouble. 

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Check out Erin’s FTWNB in cycling research here and here, follow her on Instagram and get on the waiting list at Skadi Sport Psychology. 

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Written by Skyler Espinoza

Photo credit to Anna Affias

So, are you going to the Olympics?

Chances are, if you’re reading this blog, you’ve been asked this question, or, if not, you’ve asked it to someone else. High level sports, as with so many other topics, is something we learn about through pop culture: the Olympics is one of the most universally recognized versions of sports, and in an effort to try to connect with our athletic friends and family, it’s a question we hope will signal that we too understand The Sports!

Of course the answer is probably no. It’s probably no for pretty much everyone! Even if you are the best in your country, or even one of the best in the world, the answer is probably no. Because essentially no one goes to the Olympics. Because the thing most people don’t understand about the Olympics is that how good you are at your sport is only one of many factors that go into Olympic qualification. 

Let’s use the upcoming summer Olympic Games as an example. There will be 32 sports and about 200 countries represented. There will be about 10,500 athletes. Doing some quick math, numbers allocate between 1 and 2 athletes per country per sport. Which seems fair, right? Well, what about a soccer team? What about water polo? What about spares for the water polo team in case one of them gets sick or injured? All of the athletes need to be housed and fed, and every team travels with coaches, doctors, PTs, nutritionists, weight lifting staff etc. All those people need to be housed and fed, transported and taken care of. Throw in all the infrastructure that needs to be built and maintained to actually do The Sports? There’s just not space for more!

Now imagine that you are the best pole vaulter in Germany. Maybe you’re ranked #2 in the world. But your bed in the Olympic village has been taken by a soccer player from Spain, because they need not 1 or 2 but 22 of the 10,500 slots. And Spain will still complain that that’s not really enough people for a full tournament. It is a numbers game and the reality is that, even if you are one of the best, there is not a place at the Olympics for the best person in each sport from all participating nations. 

In the shared imagination, the Olympics are considered to be the absolute pinnacle of sporting achievement. Telling your friends about your World Cup or Championship performances elicits congratulations and hugs, but inevitably leads back to The Question: so what about the Olympics? One of the reasons I (at times) find this question frustrating is that, for many sports, World Championship-type events are actually far more prestigious than the Olympics. The start lines are much more competitive, and often feature the whole host of events. Remember our German pole vaulter? Well, when she goes to the track and field World Championships, there are 10,000 athletes, and ALL of them are track and field athletes. The German roster is considerably larger, and they have spots for all of their top athletes. There isn’t a Spanish soccer player in sight. The German pole vaulter will actually get to vault against all of the best vaulters in the world, not just the ones who win the Games lottery.

The other part of the question that pisses me off is a little deeper under the surface. When I was a child, I imagined, like I think a lot of people still do, that the Olympics is somehow a fair competition designed to test the best of the world against one another. However, when you embark on an Olympic journey, you realize there’s something required for pretty much any Olympic sport: Money. Lots of it. And privilege. Lots of that too. A study done across the 2014 winter games and 2016 summer games showed that over 30% of athletes were educated privately (hi! me!), and 95% of winter athletes, and 90% of summer athletes, were white (hi, it’s me again!). NINETY-PLUS PERCENT OF OLYMPIC ATHLETES ARE WHITE. Of an international competition that’s supposed to represent the entire global population! So to ask “are you going to the Olympics?” and to hold up this competition as the end all and be all of sports just isn’t accurate. It’s a competition that requires so much money and privilege to even be in a position to qualify for, and it doesn’t represent the most competitive field of sport. 

People have been asking me some version of The Question for a while, and I respond with some version of “that’s the dream!” I am so lucky to be able to have this dream, and fulfilling it would, in some way, feel like all the sacrifices I’ve made, and the ones that have been made on my behalf, were worth it. But really, a more accurate answer should be, “it depends!” How each country, and sport, is allotted spots, and how those spots are filled, is different for every country and sport. Sometimes the spots are filled by a committee, sometimes at a trial event. Sometimes the spots have been essentially filled for years (think a returning Michael Phelps), sometimes rosters aren’t announced until weeks before the Games. Whether or not I ever go to a Games (Olympic or Paralympic with Hannah) is largely dependent on the performance of our team as a whole, how many spots we earn in an Olympic cycle, and then what our national governing body (USA Cycling/Para Cycling) decides the order of selection will be. Will good performances increase the likelihood of a Games-filled future? Of course! But is being one of the best in the world, or even the best a guarantor of a Games appearance? No. 

As the years have gone by, the Games have remained a goal, of course. However, I have come to realize that whether or not I make a Games squad is, in large part, out of my hands. Therefore, to have it stand as the end all and be all of my life is, in my view, dangerous and inappropriate. Our goals should be things that we can control, and a Games selection isn’t one of them. 

So. The next time you think about asking someone The Question, think about the FIFA World Cup silver medallists, England, who failed to qualify for the Paris 2024 Olympics. Think about someone who’s missed out on an individual spot because the performance of her teammate meant they couldn’t bring anyone. Or better yet, think about the fastest woman in the world who is probably out there working a real job because she can’t afford not to. It’s a complicated, messy, messy process, and people’s whole lives and dreams get trampled in the whirlwind. The Olympics is special, yes, but, at the end of the day, it’s just that: a Game. 

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Written by Skyler Espinoza

Photo credit to Joe Kusumoto

Sources:

https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/28501022/

NO PAIN NO GAIN

I’ve been struggling for a long time with how to share my continued experience of pain. About a month ago I saw a quote from long jumper Tianna Madison. She said: “Sometimes we heal in public so the ones doing it in private can keep going.” So I’m trying my best here to be honest about my pain, in the hopes that it can help someone else heal.

I have been in pain for the last 5 years.

From a multiple disc herniation in 2016, to my eventual back surgery in 2018, to recovering from the surgery, to a concussion and now a combination of nerve damage and impingement, the pain has changed in quality and quantity, but has been my constant companion. I’ve had great days and good days, bad weeks and fine weeks, average months and really shitty months. I’ve had good workouts and great races, I’ve cried in more workouts than I can count and crushed more workouts than I can count. My pain has lived with me through some of the best days of my life, and through some of the darkest moments. Through all of this, there hasn’t been a single day in which my body doesn’t feel slightly painful.

The hardest part for me of living with chronic pain has been acknowledging, especially to myself, that I live with pain. That this isn’t normal, that this isn’t something that I should just sweep under the rug, that this is a hole I need to proactively work to get out of.

Acknowledging the pain makes me feel like something is wrong with me, or that I’ve failed or messed up in some way. I haven’t. I have done still do all of my PT exercises, I eat well, I sleep a lot, I am young, healthy and take care of my body. I exercise! A lot! And still this pain lives, walks, sits, stands, rides and breathes with me.

The other hardest part is somehow for me scheduling doctor’s appointments and MRIs, X-rays and PT appointments. I think it’s supposed to feel good to take action, but so many times I get so hopeful that the pain will stop and each time it doesn’t I’d rather get cozy on my couch and take an Advil then drive back. Each appointment feels like another acknowledgment that something is wrong. It feels fucking exhausting. It feels like a waste of time.

If you’re in pain, I’m so sorry. And I promise you that it will end, because I need to promise that to myself. That someday I’ll find the doctor, or the PT, or the chiro, the acupuncture or the treatment that will take the pain away for good. That someday my husband and I can live a life that doesn’t revolve around my body and its pain.

Anyone who says”no pain no gain” truly don’t understand what pain feels like. Because there’s pain that leaves, and there’s pain that lives. And if there’s a lesson to be gained from the pain that lives, I’d like to withdraw and reenroll elsewhere.

Written by Skyler Samuelson Espinoza

P.S. Getting ready to post this on my blog, I went back and looked to see if I’d already used the photo from the morning after my back surgery. Turns out I already wrote a blog post about pain, “The Pain Cave,” back in 2019. Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to write a post someday about how I’m not in pain anymore. When it happens I’ll tell you all about it.