I’ll be the first to admit I have never, except for a brief period in my early-20s, been an athletic person. Why is it, then, I find myself feeling pangs of jealousy toward my daughters and their activities?
As I write this evening, I am sitting on the sidelines of Court B at our YMCA watching 2nd and 3rd grade girls learn volleyball basics and my 5 year old turn cartwheels time and again. I found my heart sinking…wishing I could play again myself. It has only been a couple of decades. And I was bad at it then.
I fully believe there’s a sort of psychosis that comes over a person who lives with chronic pain. My body has strict limits and I am unable to do things I was once able to do. And although I often didn’t do…I could have if I wanted to.
Knowing I will be bedridden and miserable for days if I even try…that is what kills me inside.