Facing Down Baggage on Eight Wheels

This summer, I joined roller derby. It's not just because it looks like fun, and it's a little trendy, and I was looking for something to do that could just be for me.

I also joined because, at age 33, I am tired of being gripped by the fear of my prepubescent self.

The first derby meeting was on my birthday. I sat there looking at the group of women and feeling hopeful, but also cautious. I scanned their faces looking for possible enemies.

It's a decades-long defense mechanism, but roller derby is an embodiment of my capital-F Fear: Organized athletic activity with other women.

The night before it started, I curled up on the couch and sobbed. All the fear and all the insecurity poured out: What if I get rejected? What if I'm not any good? What if they don't like me? 


At church this week, we started talking about luggage ... and baggage. What are the things you carry with you that are helpful and worthwhile? What are the things that you are lugging around that are just holding you back?

My fear of athletic activity and other women -- my fear of being rejected and bullied -- doesn't serve me. I'm tired of carrying it.

I'm tired of not joining in things that look like fun because I don't want to be laughed out of the room. I'm tired of holding back.

So I go to derby practice. Twice a week. Every Tuesday and Thursday the urge to bail burns inside me. I think of every excuse possible. I breath a sigh of relief when the two-hour practice is chopped down to one.

But I go. The fear sometimes is gripping. My head is filled with doubt. You can't do this. You're going to fall. You're going to fail. And I slowly am learning to answer it. I don't care. I'm still here. I can fall. Falling is OK. 

I'm learning to trust the body that for years has been viewed as my enemy. Uncoordinated. Fat. Unattractive. Clumsy.

Hop! I tell it. And it hops. Turn! And we turn (kinda). Trust yourself.

"Derby will give you more than you give it," they told us our first day. I thought, How could it?

This is how. Every day. Every moment. When it burns. When my back gives out. When my thighs scream. When I go home and have a bruise in the shape of a thumb on my rear. When I keep going. And keep doing. And keep pushing.

Every day I don't quit, even though I think maybe I want to. Every time I fall and climb back up.

Every time I refuse to continue to be held back by my own doubt.

It's derby teaching me that maybe for the past 20 years, the biggest bully in my life has been myself, and my own self-doubt.

And it's time to dump a little baggage.