Temporary Paralysis

There’s a point in every journey where you hit a wall so hard, there’s no choice but to stop. For me, that day came when I was supposed to leave for my winter training trip to Puerto Rico—a day I had been looking forward to for months.

On Saturday, despite not speaking to another human being for weeks, my coach and I had a planned call. I had attempted to explain what was happening, even though I had no idea what was going on. I had depressive episodes before, so I explained it through that lens.

 She had been incredibly understanding. I remember her saying something along the lines of Well, it’s okay if you are not sure what you want to do right now. I want you to do what’s best for you. The good thing is you have until we leave on Wednesday to make your decision, so don’t feel pressured to give me one right away. 

I had been holding it "together" for weeks, despite everything I was feeling. I had pushed through the anxiety, the fatigue, the overwhelming mental noise, because I was determined to make it to Puerto Rico. Swimming was often my outlet, my special interest hyper-fixation, and I didn’t want to miss the trip. But at the same time, I hadn’t been able to leave my house more than once or twice. I had completely stopped training. 

I had gone back and forth between my choices more times than a ball in a good tennis match. I had started packing, I had even made jewelry to match all the outfits I had packed. 

The Monday before we were set to leave, we had our first women's team event planned: morning lift. I woke up early: I packed my bag, ate breakfast, and even did my stretches and exercises to prepare for our first morning lift back from break. I was excited, or at least I wanted to be. I had finished velcro-ing my lift shoes and was ready to get going.

I tried to get up, but my body physically wouldn't let me. My mind was racing, it was panicking, my body felt heavy, yet weak and sweaty. I was paralyzed- or at least it felt that way. I was stuck in the noise in my head. I was watching the time pass by, without the awareness of what it meant. I sat there for over an hour, unable to make sense of what was happening. Time passed, and before I knew it, the lift had started, then ended, and I was still sitting there. I thought I was stuck for seconds, but it was hours. It wasn't until my dad asked me what I was doing with my shoes and backpack on sitting on the bench, that I snapped back into reality.

I contemplated reaching out to my teammates, but my mind had created an entirely different reality than what was happening. I felt paranoid, isolated, and invisible. I didn’t feel support from a single teammate, and even those who did reach out (literally like 4 out of 60 people), I had convinced myself were only doing so because they were forced to by the coach. No connection I had felt genuine, and the thought of attempting to explain myself to an individual in a 60 person cult where rumors spread like wildfire, truly terrified me.

I had already felt the scarlet "C" branded on me for being perceived as "crazy", I feared how I would be perceived now, but not as much as I feared the reality of existence.

I didn’t want to admit it, but something was very wrong. My body knew it before I consciously did. I didn’t want to face or acknowledge the fact that I wasn’t okay. If I had gone on that trip, I would’ve been miserable—pretending everything was fine while suffering so immensely inside. Or maybe I would have gone back to hyper-fixating on swimming, letting my entire being be consumed by my obsession with greatness.

Looking back, I realize that my body was protecting me. It was shutting down because I wasn’t ready to listen. I wasn’t willing to admit that I needed more help.