Life After...death
How tragic loss years ago shapes me now
This is the first installment of what I imagine could become a series called “Life After…” where I will explore how significant events shape life...after.
I don’t always share about the impact of my brother’s death outside of specific anniversaries. All these years later, the shadows aren’t always deep and dark. But on the flip side, the reality is that I’ve never been an adult without the experience of tragic loss. I’ve never been a wife without it. I’ve never been a mom without it. I’ve never been a coach without it.
In this first “Life After” post, I want to share a part of coaching that, until this past season, I hadn’t given a ton of thought to. But before I delve in, I want to be clear that I’m not saying this reaction is true for everyone with a trauma background, nor am I saying that people without a trauma background can’t experience this reaction. I also want to be clear that what I’m talking about is feeling *in extremes* that seem to go beyond what I imagine to be a normal range, and this is only subjective to my own experience.
Over the course of the 2023 track season, I shared selfies on FB with whichever daughter was with me on a given meet. Some of you may have seen some of the photos. It was enjoyable having my girls in track this year — I even got to coach both of them in the horizontal jumps — but being a coach extends well beyond those selfie snapshots on the socials. As a coach, every day I go to work I spend time with a group of kids that belong to our teams, but also to others. Each athlete has an individual family, with individual stories and lives. These kids matter to me. These kids matter beyond me. And to me, with the past trauma history I have, this responsibility is weighty. It’s one I carry willingly…I wouldn’t go back each year if I despised the load…but keeping a group of kids safe and alive to return them to their families at the end of practice or a meet is something I take very seriously. I know I’m not unusual in feeling this responsibility. It’s part of the coaching job description. But for me, what throws the added weight on me is that sometimes I can be driven to extremes about it. This is the part I’m not sure is “normal” for others…but for me, it just is.
There are several things I can think of that have brought on these extreme feelings through the years, but want to know why I processed this particular trauma response so much this year? The increase of storm chances after so many years of storm drought. It’s something that is normal, right? It’s Kansas. It storms. But for me, the heightened awareness is less about the actual storms, and more about the responsibility toward the kids in my care. There was a stretch of meets over the season with increased threat of severe storm weather. So as I loaded equipment and welcomed kids onto the bus, I also managed the extreme stress I had at the threat of storms. It’s an ongoing fear of mine that someone would be missing if we have to take shelter. Or that a tornado would drop too fast. Or…whatever the scenario. I live with the experience of profound, sudden, tragic loss (for those who don’t know, my younger brother drowned when we were kids). I don’t want others to experience it. So, my body reacts to potential threats to the kids I coach and care about.
It’s been interesting to think through these things, connecting dots, looking back at my reactions to certain circumstances and realize…OH, I was reacting to trauma! Several years ago, an editor asked how it was that I was only then becoming aware of the impact childhood trauma had on me. All I could think was…a person doesn’t know what she doesn’t know. And so it is now. I don’t know why this reaction is something I’m only now understanding…I didn’t know. But now that things are coming into focus, I find myself experiencing gratitude. Understanding doesn’t prevent triggers, but it sure goes a long way toward helping me work through extremes.
In my estimation, these realities don’t render me useless and I don’t feel something is wrong with me — the loss of my brother changed me. It shapes who I’ve become. How could it not? Yes, my adrenals run on overdrive sometimes. But I no longer feel I’m somehow “broken”. I’m glad for the awareness. I’m glad for the concern. I’m glad for the compassion. I’m even glad to be “on guard” if it serves to help someone else, including my athletes. These things are good. And even though the increase came from something bad, I don’t hate these particular “trauma gifts.”*
And maybe, sharing a trauma reality that’s far-removed from the actual tragedy (I was 15 when my brother died…now I’m 40), might help someone else understand more about trauma, more about me, more about themselves…and the hope of that makes opening up worth it...enough that I think I’ll make “Life After” a series. But you already knew that.
* a term I’ve started using, inspired by thoughts from Encanto…find more to this story in the link section at the end.
It Just Makes Sense
Sight: Fall sports season is underway, so you can catch me watching middle school volleyball on Thursday evenings and high school cheer (aka football games) on Fridays.
Sound: Sticking with school-related things, all three of my kids are in band (hs = flute, 8th = trombone, 6th = trumpet) and this makes me happy. I loved playing clarinet in band…pep band was my favorite! My oldest will march at halftime tomorrow night and I’m excited. Yay!
Smell: Have you ever smelled athletes when they come out of practice from an un-airconditioned gym when it’s 100 degrees outside? It’s not their fault…it’s just the natural progression of sports.
Touch: I’ve held paint rollers just as much as books lately. The great room swap of 2023 is almost over and at the finish line is (finally!) an office for me! I regularly post room updates on my social channels: Facebook, Instagram and Twitter (all with the handle @malindadjust)
Taste: My son wanted apple pie for his birthday party. Since I now have a pie crust recipe I really like, the effort of making pies is worth it. Full disclosure, the first time I made it a couple years ago, I didn’t shape the dough very well and eventually my smoke detectors went off…whoops. But that hasn’t happened in awhile. I’m getting better :)
Completely different experiences, but isn't that "Oh! I was reacting to trauma!" epiphany...enlightening? Emotional? Validating? Unnerving? I dunno...I had that realization for the first time earlier this year and it was all of those things to me.