Honestly... it's an identity crisis. I read somewhere once that every athlete dies twice. It was shortly after my softball career came to an end and as I read it I remember thinking to myself how true those words were, how powerful, how spot on, because if you were blessed with the opportunity to not only play a sport, but to have it fill your soul, light a passion inside of you, and teach you some of life's most important lessons, you surely know that it's true... every athlete does die twice. I'm pretty sure that if you looked at my heart you'd find red stitches in the shape of C lining the sides of it. I'm also pretty sure that you'd find crack or a break, like you hit the crap out of a softball and the outer shell began to rip off. Like that, but not as cool. It's been almost two and a half years since the day my favorite thing in the world, a beautiful bright yellow, red-stitched ball, turned on me and soared over my head, over the fence and ended it all. This may sound dramatic to some, but those who know me and for so many athletes out there, you know it's real. Two and a half years and I'm still struggling to figure out who I am, a feat I certainly had NO problem with when I could identify myself as an athlete, a softball player, a centerfielder. WHY am I struggling? When that grand slam flew over the fence, it grabbed my confidence and took it with it. Never in my life have I been more infiltrated with the feelings of self-doubt and insecurity, leaving me to question who I am and what I'm doing. All my life, well from ages 5 to 22, I prided myself on being a softball player, and a good one at that. On the first day of class when a teacher would ask us to describe ourselves or anytime I was introducing myself to someone new, it was always, "I'm Karleigh and I play softball." It was always the thing I wanted people to know about me, above all else, the identity I wanted people to pair me with. It's who I was, always wanted to be, and hopefully still am somewhere inside me. It's a void left to be filled. I do have the best husband, family and friends a girl could ask for, but the void left is not something fixed with personal relationships, it's something I have to find in myself, something that I do for me, something that I can pour my heart and soul into, the way I did with the game I loved so much. In my heart, I'll always identify myself as a softball player, but now, I need to find an identity where I can go up to someone new and CONFIDENTLY, HAPPILY, and PASSIONATELY say, "I'm Karleigh and I'm a..." Lately though I've been thinking a lot about it, and perhaps it's not necessarily the loss of softball itself that's causing me this asinine identity crisis. I mean yes, I'd obviously give just about anything for one more at bat, to stare the pitcher down and know that I'm going to hit the ball hard somewhere (preferably a triple down the right field line) or to breathe in the fresh air out in centerfield, anticipating where the ball will go and make a diving grab. Even though I wish I could do all of this again, every day, I know that's it's all still inside me and the memories will last a lifetime. So what's causing this identity crisis is instead? The loss of the intangibles the game gave me: my confidence, my passion, my security and a feeling of "being home". I will never forget when, on one of my college visits, my dad told the coach, "No matter what, Karleigh's most at-home on a ball diamond." There were no truer words, it was my identity. Softball was the one thing I could get behind 100 percent (well Softball and Christmas that is). It was the one thing I could pour my passion into, my work ethic, my love for life, everything I had and now... I don't have something like that. Throughout college I imagined I'd find something similar with work. I dreamed of a career that I could get behind in the way that I could with playing softball, that I'd have a job I could dedicate myself to 24/7 and pour my heart and soul into the same way. Well guess what, the working world's just not that fun. It's not like playing a sport at all... misjudged that one. Since I graduated college, I've quit 3 jobs, none of which were jobs in the field of my college major. I tried to force myself into loving Event Planning because I thought it could be my next passion, well... I was wrong. Three strikes and you're out, right? So here I am, working part-time for Sweet Dreamzzz, a nonprofit dear to my heart, and part-time from home as a Freelance Journalist and Blogger. I think I'm getting there. I love to write, always have, and I'm starting to think this is something I can get behind. So maybe, if this blog takes off, if I write a best-selling novel, or if I become the next Arianna Huffington, I'll be able to look someone new in the eye and confidently say, "Hi, I'm Karleigh and I'm a Writer." Until I solve my life's identity crisis, I'll continue to make the most of my time and enjoy every moment, because even though I'm struggling to know who I am I can tell you this, my life is beautiful. Thanks for reading, Karleigh Michele Photography by: Melanie Elaine Photography Hair and Makeup by: Megan Simmons
4 Comments
Ruth
9/23/2017 10:18:27 am
It's times like this in life that your life is great! You just don't know it because it's just happening to you.
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Karleigh Michele
9/23/2017 10:29:12 am
Thank you, Ruth! Great advice!
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Peter
9/23/2017 03:13:33 pm
One day I will get to say, "Hi I'm Peter, husband to the famous writer Karleigh!"
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9/23/2017 07:47:39 pm
Karleigh: Bored on a Saturday night I was surfing twitter when I clicked on this thing called Grizzly Fastpitch. I didn't know what it was or how I got on there but, I signed in and yours was the first article i read and it's like the words you wrote jumped out of my brain and I understood: identity crisis. A brief history: since i was old enough to walk, my father took me to his softball games (fastpitch!!!!!) and I was always around the game. As I got older I'd imitate the pitchers and I guess I got good at it. By the time I was 13 I was pitching in the men's fastpitch league that was quite good at the time. Now, imagine yourself at 13 batting off Akron Racers pitchers or any D1 college kid or older. That was me at 13. I left home to play for a nationally recognized boys fastpitch team in SLC Utah at 17... get this... I even had to sign out of school in PA and enroll in Utah to get my diploma. It was how I met eligibility concerns of ASA at the time. But I was 17, left home to live with my coach and his wife (complete strangers) and my father signed off on it. Then immediately after that, I started playing International ball at age 18 by going to New Zealand for the winter. NZ is to men's softball what USA is to girls. Then at 21 I was put on the US National team and pitched for my country. I played with and against the best in the WORLD and it's how I made a living. I would live various places, work during the summer, go back to NZ. Back to the USA, then back to NZ. 10 straight years. My last stint on USA national team was 2000 when we went to South Africa and got 3rd place. These days I teach pitching as a business, private lessons, clinics, seminars, etc. But, I went through a MAJOR identity crisis when I retired. It almost ruined my marriage. I have had DOZENS of articles written solely about me, on TV 100 times maybe? and my name is synonymous with the game of softball and local sports. To have that abruptly stop was and still is hard but it gets easier. I used to laugh at athletes who would cry at retirement thinking "What kind of a hamster cries about this thing?" I fully understand now. I am still recognized locally. My pitching business is one of the, if not the, most internationally known because many of the countries I played against now hire me to help and develop their pitchers from National/ Olympic teams to junior development. And I've come to grips with life after the game, I'll always have the memories. The scrap books of articles, trophies, team jerseys, and friends along the way. But, Identity crisis says it all. Been there, done that.
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Karleigh MicheleIt's me... Authentic, Real, and Honest. Because I believe that's the only way to write it. Archives
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