I release childhood burdens

Between 1985-1988 my dad played AAA baseball in the Chicago White Sox organization, one step below the Big Leagues. I was born in 1988; the same year he suffered a career-ending shoulder injury. He was forced to move back to his small hometown and work a 9-5 office job. Just like that, his dreams were shattered.

As you can imagine, I spent all of my childhood freetime on a ball field. Baseball was almost like a religion in our home. It makes sense that I created a story in my head that said I wasn’t good enough unless I was the best player on the team.

When I was a freshman in high school I made the varsity team and a summer team that traveled the country. It felt like I was doing everything right. I was living up to my family name. Except, as the competition steepened, I began breaking out into uncontrollable sobs on the field every time I struck out or made an error. And once I started crying, it felt impossible to stop.

I became so enmeshed in living out my dad’s dream life, that I completely lost myself in the process. I chose to spend so much time in the batting cages during the offseason that my hands bled, blistered, and calloused. I thought I was a failure if my name didn’t make the local paper for hits or RBIs. I put so much pressure on myself to be perfect that it eventually drowned me.

By the time I was a senior, my softball career had crumbled into a full blown eating disorder. I was no longer present. No longer able to focus on softball. No longer good enough.

A few years ago when I stumbled upon this Carl Jung quote, it stopped me in my tracks: 

“The greatest burden a child must bear is the unlived life of its parents.”

That quote made me feel seen for the first time in my life, like I wasn't crazy. Maybe as a highly sensitive infant I absorbed some of the career-ending grief my dad was experiencing. Maybe I’ve been carrying this burden my entire life. Maybe this is the birthplace of my not good enough schema.

Last week I took my dog to a local high school softball game, only to find myself sitting in a puddle of all too familiar uncontrollable tears. When I got home, I wrote my teenage self a letter:

Dear KelsiBelle,
I see you, sweet girl. I see how hard you’ve been working and the intense sadness you feel. I see your fears, your anger, and your insecurities. But I also see your dedication, your huge heart, and your smile. I see the warmth and the light within you even during this difficult time. You do not need to shrink, mold, or mask yourself in order to be accepted. There is life beyond the softball field. It is perfectly normal to grieve your past; but remember, you have the power within yourself to create a beautiful life you don’t want to escape from. You are good enough just the way you are. I love you.

One of the best parts of my sobriety journey is learning to create a life where I am okay on my own. Where I don’t need to look to anyone or anything for approval. I can create a life that feels true and joyous for me. Sobriety gives me the freedom I’ve been searching for beyond the ball field. 

Most importantly, sobriety is teaching me how to, as Jung would say, release my own self-made childhood burdens. I am learning that it is possible to develop my own sense of agency, my own voice. The cloud of inferiority that has been weighing me down for 20 years is finally starting to lift as I rethink, reframe, and release childhood burdens.