I rarely speak about some areas of my past, especially those experiences that were central to my identity. Perhaps it is the shame and embarrassment that is the very reason I am uncomfortable talking about such parts of my life. Things I realize were once my primary significance have lost their luster. Along my journey as I began to see through my own facade, I realized that I had been building an identity based on external superlatives. My search for significance in my early years culminated in playing American football for the University of Alabama. I was not particularly athletic or built to play football at such a high level, but where I came from, performance in this arena was the gold standard of significance and success.
As my high school playing days were nearing a close I could not imagine the end of my athletic journey, so I decided to walk-on to the University of Alabama's football team. My only dream was that one day I would run onto the field in the uniform and stand on the sidelines for just one game in the 5 years that I could be on the team. I earned a spot on the team and even more. My dreams came sooner than I could have ever imagined on a Tuesday afternoon after finishing up a drill at practice. I was a scout team linebacker used as a blocking dummy to help coaches teach the starting running backs, who had just come off a national championship, improve their blocking skills. The running backs coach came up to me and said, "Son, how would you like to dress out for the game on Saturday?" I was speechless. It was the continuance of a love-hate relationship in pursuit of significance through football. My hopes and despair rode on the weekly dress list for the games. Far more times than not I didn't make the dress list for the games, but I always came back stubbornly hoping for a spot the following week.
Being coach-able, tough-minded, and physically durable were all characteristics that worked on my behalf. Each day before contact practices, which were Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of a game week, I would take Ibuprofen to ward off the pending headaches. In my second year, at practice I broke my ankle that required surgery and months of rehab. I went through rigorous off season training and numerous injuries to my shoulders, neck, and feet. Through it all, I continued to push through the pain, working to assure some sense of lasting significance. That significance came in my senior year, when in spring practice I won a starting position on the team and I was moved from the "walk-on" locker room into the scholarship locker room. Despite getting beaten out in fall practice and spending the year on the second string, I made every dress list for a full season of games for The University of Alabama, a feat not all too common among walk-ons. However, success and significance did not come without a price.
While playing football, the parts of me that longed for significance had to make sure that other parts of me never saw the light of day. Later in life I eventually learned to value my previously shunned vulnerable parts far more than the tough, rugged parts. I began thinking through this blog more than a month ago when a former teammate at Alabama committed suicide. He is not the first teammate and unfortunately will likely not be the last. The vary characteristics that made us all good soldiers, became the very characteristics that made life so difficult and disconnected at times. What would teammates and coaches think if we exposed our fears, pains, and sadness? One can certainly draw the parallels with various forms of toxic masculinity found in gangs, patriarchal religious systems, and in every playground around the world. I read comments of how no one could have imagined my teammate struggling with suicidal ideation. But we were all good actors, trained to hide our pain and deny our need for help.
In my work with male clients, I find similar trends where men generally take time more to open up to vulnerable aspects of their life. Men seem to prefer a way of "doing" over a way of "being." Clients often find ways to manage "negative" emotions, describing or explaining, but have difficulty allowing themselves to access and feel the feelings in the moment. I completely get it. Letting go of maladaptive ways of existing, that have been one's lifeline, takes time and trust. Rotating out of external validation to internal acceptance is a journey. The journey to vulnerability is one that is truly about strength rather than building or maintaining a facade. Head Coach Sean McVay of the NFL's Los Angeles Rams recently stated, "there's strength in vulnerability." This is not something we heard in the lock room 25 years ago, but fortunately things are changing.
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