Finding My Place

Though now twenty-four and happily married for six years, my teenage years were awkward and uncomfortable. As it is with many teenagers, I was plagued with thoughts and confusion about smoking, alcohol, sex, love, and my future. In an attempt to make sense of things, I tried my hand at different sports.

I tried out for the volleyball team, but the other girls were so tall and self-assured. I was squat and hesitant and didn't have a chance in hell of making the team. I tried soccer but people laughed at my short legs. I tried basketball and with my first shot at the net, the ball bounced off the rim, hit me squarely in the face and knocked me out cold. I was laughed at for weeks, completely humiliated. As a last ditch effort, I attended a couple of fencing practices with my brother, but a ripening teenage girl does not like to get jabbed in the chest with a blunt sword. 

Then I heard about wrestling club. There was a certain camaraderie and toughness in that club. A toughness I seriously lacked. 

The coach was not a small man and he was somewhat awkward himself. He had a seemingly rough exterior, but beneath his sternness was a certain kindness and understanding that was truly endearing. 

I was less than ninety pounds at the time, scrawny and short. Needless to say, I was not the greatest wrestler.

And yet, that club helped me navigate through the most difficult years of my teenage life.

A tournament in Carbonear, Newfoundland especially comes to mind. It was here that I had my first taste of alcohol and all its negative effects. I remember the heavy smoke as it settled coarsely in my throat. I remember eye-lids wavering, shouts and cajoles, a small fire gleaming in the moonlight. I remember hearing a maniacal, unabashed laugh only to realize moments later that the noise had escaped my own lips and not someone else's. 

Most of all, I remember sobbing, feeling regretful and embarrassed. 

And then one of my teammates and friends, Ana, sat next to me on the floor and held me tightly in her arms. She kissed my forehead and told me she wouldn't let anything happen to me. She slept next to me that night, and I felt like we were two sisters in one of Jane Austen's novels. 

Despite all my flaws and eccentricities, my inelegance and gawkiness, the people in that club knew and accepted me wholly. Belonging isn't being like everyone else, but experiencing love both for and from people who seem so unlike you. 

And it is with this same love that you come to understand that you're not so different after all. 

How ironic that the place where I truly felt I belonged was the one place where it seemed like I would fit in the least.