Playing through pain is a universal concept in sports. I am positive for every story I have where I sucked it up, put my nose back in place and just carried on – I have a male counter part who can recount his own wounded warrior saga. But the thing is, right or wrong – well most probably wrong, especially in this day in age – the female athlete always feels more pressure to prove herself. There is still a part of us still fighting to change stereotypes and perceptions that should have been put to rest a long time ago – that we are weaker, more sensitive to pain, or lacking the endurance which sports demands. So, we double down. I’ll play through it all. Broken bones, torn muscles, ruptured ligaments, jammed fingers, massive bruises with every shade of blue purple and red, cuts that never heal, extreme fatigue, endless training sessions…bring it all on. There is no quit – in fact, there is a burning desire to shove it in the face of perceived doubters. Let me show you just what I can do. Warrior girl.

There is something extremely empowering in knowing that you can take the pain – to plant your feet firmly on the ground as a massive athlete is barreling toward you, take the charge, absorb the pain as your body is thrown to the floor and then just get up. To know that the pain is fleeting, it will pass, and you will go on playing. Of all the skills and life lessons I have learned through sports – leadership, work ethic, teamwork – knowing that I can take it – that has served me well time and time again. When I have gone through particularly rough times, I would put my game face on. I would look into my own eyes through the mirror and frantically search for the voice that told me – I’m not hurting. And even if I am – I can take it, I can go on. Warrior girl.

But there is a danger in this too. Sokolove points out that ACL tears in young girls and women are “overexposure injuries” – the more often a girl plays, the greater her odds are of suffering a tear. You keep going and going and going. There is no stop because you aren’t supposed to, you aren’t allowed to – that doesn’t fit into the mentality we are expected to maintain.  But then something happens – you land the wrong way, you pivot too quickly – and it all comes crashing down. Game over, season finished sometimes before it even began…because we thought, because we were indoctrinated to believe – that our capacity to withstand discomfort and pain is limitless. And then we learn that’s not actually the way it’s meant to work. Something is going to snap sooner or later. We are actually weakened by the grind.

I’ve found myself struggling recently with the trials and tribulations I meet off the field. Not that I want it – but these days a smashed nose or sprained ankle or twisted knee – they don’t seem so difficult to manage when I think about the complexities of life. I’m a parent, I’m a single parent at that and a mother to a child with special needs – the obvious struggles are inherent within that statement itself. But there are also other constant and continuing stresses in my life which aren’t so obvious – which make me nauseas just thinking about – and these certainly take a toll. On one hand, the athlete in me pushes me to play on through life’s daily challenges – to absorb the hardships, the frustrations, at times ya – the pain, and keep going. On the other hand, I also find myself saying it doesn’t have to be like this, to admit the day-to-day grind can be punishing. Overexposure, again and again. Am I really meant to just fight through it? To live like that? I am told that the answer to this is unequivocally no. I don’t have to power through everything in life all the time. Logically I believe this – I even preach this same thought to friends when they are going through challenges. But I find it so hard to strike that balance between gutting it out and saying it’s just too much. Because if I said it’s too much – what would that make me? So much of my strength is self defined and wrapped up in my ability to keep going. How can I be a competitor in life if I give into the difficulty? Would I still be a Warrior Girl?

Maybe the answer lies in understanding the mechanics of prevention. Sokolove offers a comprehensive preventative program that can help our female athletes avoid an ACL tear and other devastating injuries. The ideas are based around the physiological differences between men and women and therefore developing more suitable training programs. Equally important he urges an elimination of constant overexposure and encourages coaches to teach their players to speak up about pain – even minor discomfort. Prevention. I know I can play through pain – but I don’t have to. There’s a better way. There are steps and methods I can implement in my life to avoid the emotional turmoil before it even begins. More than that, giving myself permission to say I’m even minorly hurting – eventually, I may even acknowledge this is the more responsible thing to do.  It might make my life easier. It might make me stronger.

Everyone loves the image of the wounded warrior. Its more exciting, more dramatic, more marketable. Kerri Strug lands on one leg to grab the gold. You can do it! Abby Wombach gets her head stapled after splitting it open in a nasty collision. #badass. You can’t help but respect their gritty performances.  But then what happens after the wounded warrior drags herself across the finish line? What’s left of her for the next fight? Maybe the real sense of empowerment comes from prevention and preparation because you are anticipating the challenges ahead. You are recognizing that you can get hurt, that you might even get hurt  – but you have mechanisms in place that will prevent you from completely crashing. Maybe you won’t make headlines. Blood and guts sells better than smart and sensible but that’s ok because you invested in the process, because you took control of your own fate, because you came to truly understand what you need… because you can actually go on the next day. You have redefined your strength by cultivating your weaknesses. Warrior Girl.

She fought hard when the cancer came – not that anyone expected anything differently. She even beat it twice, but the third time was too much. She was in her eighties when she passed away. Her death left me immensely sad and broken for a long time. I miss her deeply every day – but I also know it was not tragic. She lived a long life. And even as the emptiness came over me when I learned that she had gone – realizing that now I would have to live in a world without her, I knew I was lucky because my memories are vast and never ending. My life will always remain intimately interwoven with hers.

Strength is a profound gift in life. My Mom-Mom had it. Physically, she was imposing – larger than life. Even as she aged, she still towered over me. She wore big gold rings on her fingers and Oprah style diamonds. As kids and even still as adults, my sisters and I used to try on her jewelry…but we could never pull it off. The rings were oversized, the diamonds too heavy on our ears. Only Mom-Mom could really carry the bling.  Mom-Mom was vibrant, she was youthful, she was a leader, she was extremely loving, and she was never afraid to tell you like it is. And Mom-Mom was a rock. The trials and tribulations would come. Mom-Mom just took it – never complaining, never faltering.

There is no doubt that my grandmother got her strength from her own mother – her name was Sarah (that is my middle name and I carry with pride). In our family though, she is simply known as Bubby. A picture of Bubby used to hang in my grandparents’ house and it now sits on the shelf in my parents living room. Bubby is sitting tall and straight, staring the camera down, no smile – as if to say – try me. It is the pose of a defiant woman. A woman whose husband deserted her and her three small kids in the 1930s. A woman who would go hungry for days but always make sure there was food on the table for her children. A woman who worked in a sweat shop sewing buttons on hats, and when the conditions in that sweat shop became unbearable, she worked to organize one of the first women’s union in the Philadelphia area. She was a woman who probably couldn’t afford gold or diamonds, but just as well because she had no use for them.  Stand tall, stand firm, do not give an inch.

When my Mom-Mom passed away, Amichai was just about a year old and I was still struggling in my marriage. She knew it too – not because I told her but because she knew me, and she saw that I was gone. I was in the states about 3 weeks before she passed away, and one of the last things she told me in person, her finger pointed squarely in my face, was – We support you. But I felt more than anything that I was letting her down, that I was letting Bubby down. I was marring their legacy. It was as if I heard Bubby screaming at me – you are wasting your namesake! Get up and stand tall! I couldn’t bare to even glance at that picture of her anymore – it was like she was looking right through me, shaking her head in disgust. And now, I would have to contend with both women screaming at me from above…

But I knew they weren’t really mad or disappointed – more than anything, they were just hurting for me, knowing that as much as they wanted, they couldn’t solve this one. Not them, not my parents, not my sisters, not my friends. Just me. I imagine one of the most frustrating parts of parenthood is seeing your child hurt and knowing you can’t fix it. I’m still at the stage with Amichai where he looks to me to restore the chaos…but the day will come where all I can offer is my support and love and watch him solve the problem. And the truth is, that’s what being an adult is all about. Hopefully parents and mentors have imparted their children with the proper tools and examples, but its all you. You have to figure it out, you have to deal with it on your own time and on your own terms. (A very good friend told me bluntly – we let you make your own decisions before, I’m not letting this go on anymore. I love her for the friend she is and the brutal honesty she brought, but I had to take ownership of this myself…which she knew, kinda…)

I did indeed deal with it on my own time and my own terms. It was a process, but if there was one moment that triggered all of it, when I knew I had to make changes, it was when I was putting Amichai to bed one night. I looked at him and I thought, if I stay – he will never know me. All he will know is this shadow that I barely recognized. That shook me to my core. He didn’t deserve that. I didn’t deserve that. It clicked, and just like that I reclaimed my strength. It still took time, but once I realized that my strength will not be distinguished or diminished – that it was inside of me and it could not be taken, I was able to move forward. I worked with experienced counselors to help map out the road I would travel. I had the tremendous support and love from family and friends. And when the day came for me to say that I was leaving, that this simply could not go on – as scary and difficult as that was – it was also a shining moment. I stood tall, I stood firm and I did not falter.

Strength is a profound gift in life. And I am certain that two tough ladies are resting a little easier…

The first time Amichai had an eye infection it led to a stay in the NICU, so you might think that still today – even the mere sight of puffy and red eyes would send me into a post-traumatic tailspin. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t because I choose to understand Amichai’s first eye infection as a symptom that saved his life and – well because sometimes, most times…its just pink eye. Drops and cream will do the trick and indeed as I write this, Amichai’s big beautiful eyes are clearing up.

But, if you are a parent who witnessed your child go through a traumatic medical event, there can be a logical tendency to overthink and over analyze every illness or ailment that he or she will experience from that point forward. Is this a lingering symptom? Early on, I fell into that trap. My mother told me to rely on my instincts. My instincts? Before I had a child, I was doubtful I had any maternal instincts, and now I was to rely on them to take care of a little baby who had suffered a stroke? Perhaps knowing that I was still on edge, my mother also told me not to hesitate and call the doctor for anything. I put him on speed dial. The first time Amichai got sick with a vrius, I thought he was having a seizure when all he was trying to do was throw up.

Since then, I have relaxed a bit. I’ve learned I actually do have maternal instincts…a virus can just really be a virus and not an epileptic episode. To be clear, I am extremely diligent in giving over Amichai’s medical history to every medical professional we ever meet. The first time I took Amichai to the dentist – where all he did was count his teeth – I busted out his records. And in fact, the dentist was grateful I told him because he took extra care in testing his bite and examining his jaw line – making sure his mouth was equally strong on both sides. All doctors need to know background and history to properly diagnose and it would be irresponsible as a parent not to provide that information.

But it can also be irresponsible to remain fixated in time. Amichai is not defined by his stroke or his CP. It is a part of him, but it is not him. Similarly, any illness or ailment that comes up usually does not need to be looked at through this prism. If – Gd forbid – Amichai had continuing and chronic ailments, if he presented as frail, feeble and frequently unwell, then there would be cause for concern. Perhaps then I would still be trapped in corridors of the NICU, understandably unable to move forward. But he doesn’t. Time and experience have showed me that he is like any other growing child who has a perpetual runny nose, isn’t always honest about washing his hands, and ends up with pink eye.

And these are good things really. If I look past my own annoyance of needing to cancel work and feeling unproductive, I am thankful. There are parents right now sitting in a NICU somewhere, anywhere – wanting nothing more than to deal with a gross crusty eye. Before Amichai was discharged from the hospital, a social worker gave me the single greatest piece of advice that I continue to follow. She told me to treat Amichai like a normal baby. While there is now a lot of trauma and baggage that now surrounds the story of his birth, she pointed out that he doesn’t know that. I might be worried and anxious, but its unfair to put any of those worries on him. She told me to check the baggage at the door and move forward. Move forward so that I can enjoy the exciting times, the ordinary occurrences, and even the frustrating moments that will inevitably come.

She was right.

I treat him like any other child, because that’s what he is. I’ve moved forward. I enjoy the exciting times, I find peace in the ordinary occurrences, and if you give me time to reflect, I can at least try to appreciate the frustrating moments…like when I need to wrestle him down to put drops in his eyes. And that is a good thing.