A Sports Banquet Memory

Being vulnerable has been a superpower to me. In my blog post “Crying Wolf,” I discuss the trauma of being diagnosed with blood clots and how that kinda-sorta changed the trajectory of my life. I choose to be vulnerable with that because it frees me. Frees me of the chains of the trauma, or at least loosens the shackles.

During this whole ordeal of being diagnosed with pulmonary embolisms and trying to figure out college, the one thing I could do was my schoolwork. I immersed myself in my studies, and my high school tutor, M, pushed me to use my voice as an outlet instead of my schoolwork. Which sounds totally oxymoronic of my own tutor to tell me, but he taught me how to speak in this very moment. He taught me how to be brave and how to own who I am. He was my confidant when I was struggling with all this trauma. His suggestion: write about it.

Being on blood thinners made me need to be put in a bubble. I had an elevator pass my entire senior year out of the school’s fear I could get pushed in the stairwells during walking time to class (my high school campus is a mile long, and they gave us seven minutes to get to class in between each period), so I stayed safe inside an elevator with my one buddy I could bring with me to and from classes. I was not medically cleared to play field hockey or participate in any physical activity. My whole life was physical activity. I am an athlete. Or, I was.

When I looked around at my peers and heard them crying out about practices, or conditioning, or the pain of being sore after a workout, I laughed. The laugh was both coming from comedic depression and full of frustration. You’ve got to be kidding me, right? I would think to myself because I had all of that taken away. Why couldn’t they see how lucky they had it? They had the privilege to be sore. They had the privilege to practice on a Saturday morning. They had the privilege to walk in the stairwell. I got those privileges taken away from me because of an internal ailment that no naked eye could see.

M told me to write about it. And I did. I put into words how to not take each practice, each drill, each loss, and each win for granted. It can get taken from you in an instant. All you want is for the sport you love to love you back, and field hockey broke my heart. It wasn’t field hockey’s fault, but getting it stripped away from me when all I could see in my future WAS field hockey… it hurt me. It made me resent the sport. It made me resent myself for getting sick. And I wrote that.

Both of my parents went to school at the same high school as me. Some of their peers became teachers there. Some teachers were still there when I went there: one of them being chemistry teacher turned Dean of Students, Mr. A. He knew my dad really well, being both his teacher and soccer coach, and when I went to high school it was fun for them to reconnect. My dad told Mr. A about my situation, and Mr. A knew I could write. He contacted my Athletic Director at the time, Mr. P, and the two of them pushed me to tell my story at the fall athletic banquet.

In front of 2000 athletes stood little senior year Brianne. She was so nervous, and so scared to share her grievance with everyone. She did, though.

I begged my peers to just pay attention to one key takeaway in my speech: be grateful you can be here. In the blink of an eye, my speech was over. I looked up and saw all 2,000 of my athletic peers and their families giving me a standing ovation.

They heard me. They heard me so well, I was asked to speak at another nearby high school on the same topic.

Since then, I carry my emotions on my face more so than ever. I am proud that I feel, and that I feel so deeply. I know some people see vulnerability as a weakness, and I am sorry for those people. It took courage to do what I did: share my story in front of 2,000 people. It took bravery to stand up in front of everyone when my legs felt like jell-o. Emotions are strong, and so am I. And together, the two of us can be unstoppable.