I am going to be straight-up honest in this post about the person I was many years ago when I was trying to do the whole supermom thing and balance a professional career in academia with the home life associated with two very busy kids. But, I will come around to an important point of reflection about finding joy. But, let me backtrack this a little:
When my daughters, now 25 and 18, were younger and I was having to go through carpool lines to drop them off at school, I would look at the moms who had the time to hop out of their cars and chat with each other, wearing their cute tennis skirts with their hair pulled up into intentionally messy ponytails. I would show up for events at my daughters’ schools and overhear conversations about how busy these same moms were between the carpool line, morning tennis, lunch with the ladies, and an occasional trip to get their nails done. Not going to lie…I was a little judgy. I’d roll my eyes and think about how much I had to rearrange in my work schedule so I could come flying into the concert or play or science fair to see one or both daughters doing their thing.
Let me be clear–I have always said that I would not have been a very good stay-at-home mom. I love my daughters, and I am very grateful for the time I have with them, but I knew I’d be the working mom because of whatever is inside me that pushes me to be my best professionally. I had spent 10 years in college getting three degrees, and I thought I needed to make sure I was using those degrees. So, even while fully acknowledging I would not have done either daughter any good staying at home, I looked to the moms (at the time, just moms) and was definitely running a commentary through my head that wasn’t super nice. I don’t even think it was the fact that they didn’t work outside of the home. I think I was judging the way they viewed their lives–they were so busy and just didn’t know how to keep things straight. Maybe I was jealous of aspects of their lives, or maybe I just didn’t understand the choices made. Either way, I was throwing shade on a decision to not have a job and live a relatively comfortable life with a single breadwinner. I was definitely envious of that piece of it. I was also envious of the fact that several of these women got together to play tennis, a sport I loved so much and was very active in during my younger years.
As those years of trying to be the supermom so many of us were trying to be passed, I never considered picking up a racquet. Don’t get me wrong–I worked out in other ways–but I didn’t have a network of friends who played, didn’t belong to a club, and I thought that part of my life was over. As my youngest daughter was heading into her senior year of high school, I thought I’d return to the sport that had given me so much joy when I was younger. In my younger life, tennis truly provided me an outlet to vent out frustration by whacking that ball across the court. I was even pretty good at one point, and I thought I had a shot at walking on at the University of Florida where I was going for my undergraduate degree (there was no Internet at the time, so I had no idea how wrong that thought was). When I was in high school, I mowed lawns and found odd jobs to help me pay to get my racquet strung, pay for $5 tennis lessons, and pay for new tennis balls. I would drag the ball basket I had down to the one tennis court there was in town and practice my serve, sometimes for hours. It was such a release for me (more on that), but I loved it. I loved having something that was mine and something that I was decent at.
Fast forward a few decades, and I rallied up the courage to attend a Tennis 101 session at our local YMCA and rolled up nervous but excited about my return. It wasn’t pretty, but I saw glimpses of the old me, and I couldn’t wait to come back to the next session. Fast forward 12 hours, and I had broken my foot. My tennis was on a pause after only getting a soft launch. I kept up the cross-training and looked forward to my eventual return. And finally, that time arrived–five months later. I showed up to the clinics, met new friends, and started to see the old me become the new me after each session.
I was invited to join a league, an actual league with matches and double partners and the whole thing. I joined USTA, paid my fee and anxiously awaited the start of matches. Then COVID hit. And then within two months, I had shattered my wrist while trying to be socially distant and hang out with my dog in the woods. I had to wonder if this was a sign maybe my vision of returning to tennis shouldn’t be a thing. Because of COVID (how many times have we said that), I had to just let me wrist try to heal in a cast. I had no idea how bad it actually was. Six months later I found out how bad it was, but my orthopedic surgeon said they were finally authorized to do non-emergent surgeries and she recommended reconstructing my wrist via a plate and pins. This explained so much. I was in surgery within a week. Back in a cast for another three months. Meanwhile, tennis was starting to return in the COVID era because it was outdoors. I was hopeful but cautious. My orthopedic surgeon said it could take up to a year for my wrist to actually get back to “normal”. Again–was this a sign?
After four months, I showed back up at the Tennis 101 clinic to see if I could even hold a racquet (yes). I hadn’t completely lost it. I still had a lot of work to do to get back to where I had been prior to the shutdown, but I saw it, and I saw a future for myself that included doing what I loved so much. Less than two months later, I was asked to partner up and play in an actual tournament–a USTA tournament. I felt (self-imposed) pressure, and I was honestly scared. But mostly, I was excited. I went in with no expectations. Did I secretly kind of hope we might win our bracket? Yes. But, I knew that I was still trying to get my wrist back to “normal” so whatever I could do would be fine. Match 1 was on deck, and my partner and I were excited. We hadn’t really played together before, so that helped keep those expectations pretty low. We lost, but we held our own. We both held serve (most of the time), and we both had great put away points. We were on to the consolation bracket. I was okay with this because I was playing. Match 2 didn’t start off particularly well. The temperature was 95 with a heat index of 108. Everyone was wilting under the oppressive heat and humidity. I felt like this second team wasn’t as skilled as the first time, but they still beat us. We both had moments of greatness, and we both managed to get a few aces off–just like the old days for me. It turns out, I hate to lose. I really hate to lose, but what I love more is just getting a chance to be out there.
As I drove home from the country club where the tournament was being held, I thought back to the days when I was on the bus with the rest of my high school team coming back from a match or tournament. I thought through the points where I could have done better, I set practice goals for myself, and I got excited about the next opportunity to play.
While tennis was truly an escape for me in high school and college–a true escape from being bullied and tormented and balancing so much on my plate–it was an escape for me in a different way now. When I was in high school, I used tennis as a mechanism to deal with the social pressures I was feeling and to honestly escape the bullying (think small town, and I was the new kid and the preacher’s kid). I saw tennis as my way out. I thought just maybe I’d find a way to get a scholarship to get the hell out of dodge, but I needed to put in the time. While now I am not looking to escape bullying (thankfully) or find ways to pay for college (at least for me), tennis is still that outlet for me. I love whacking the ball across the court. I get great satisfaction from nailing a winning shot or getting a great serve in. I find joy in the sport.
I think it is so easy to get lost in the day-to-day. For so many years, I was just trying to stay afloat, trying to balance work and life and kids and all the things. I had a lot of mom guilt and I certainly would not have taken away time from my kids to give myself time. In retrospect, that thinking was all wrong. We all deserve to have joy in our lives, and we all need time for ourselves. It isn’t selfish. What I know now is that when I’m better–emotionally, mentally, physically–I am better for others. It’s so obvious but again, I got sucked in mom guilt or work guilt or whatever else guilt.
I am happy to say that if I learned anything during COVID, it was I had to take care of me. And, it was ok for me to have joy. So as I look back onto those days of carpool and overhearing the plans for the day from the moms who were heading off to tennis, what I realize now is that I was envious of their time to do things that made them happy–get together with friends, play a sport, enjoy lunch, whatever it may be. I certainly lacked that connection and since of community and I definitely didn’t have any networks. At the end of the day, I realize my purpose has been to be present in the day with intentional focus on joy and what brings me happiness. For now, it’s whacking that tennis ball across the net and finding a set of friends and a feeling of community that was lacking for so many years of my life.
Long story short–find your joy!
Tales from a Solo Girl Traveling the World 