Are You Carrying A Weapon?
I sat still and speechless, letting the tears roll down my cheeks as the words poured out of his mouth. On the outside this guy was a chiseled six foot eight inches tall and 280 pounds, oozing with grit and determination. But inside, he was a giant teddy bear who had all of us drenched in emotion.
His powerful self-reflection was one of many in the closing circle held on the last day of our retreat. All ten of us guys shared stories remembered, gratitude earned, and lessons learned. We had spent the last five days together in the lush Green Mountains of Vermont connecting deeply with ourselves, with each other, and with our surroundings. In addition to hiking, eating, meditating, fire tending, and stretching our minds and bodies, we laughed and cried. We listened and heard. We revealed and imagined.
For the guy talking, a former NFL linebacker who had held the Vince Lombardi trophy not once but twice, the experience was less sensational than it was a remarkable test of faith (and perhaps fate). Long before the retreat began, he let me know he was coming in deeply unsure. He was uncomfortable in this kind of situation, in the wilderness, with a group of strangers, talking about matters more personal than the score of last night’s game. On our pre-retreat Zoom call, he was visibly nervous. And when I met him on the first day and hugged him hello, his sweat drenched shirt put an exclamation point on the unease.
At first he was expectedly standoffish, deflected any eye contact, and criticized himself for almost everything. But underneath the nervous tension and social anxiety, I sensed he was a beautiful soul with a generous heart. And I had a feeling he was on the verge of having a serious breakthrough.
His life accomplishments exceeded all of ours put together. Not just his thrill of victories, but also his agonies of defeat. You could tell by being in his company that he was the consummate team player – dedicated to winning at all costs. And win he did, at one of most physical sports ever. But like any intense lifelong commitment, his career path came at a cost.
This gifted athlete was a hero to many, not the least of which included his wife and children. In return for his on and off the field efforts, he was showered with accolades, money and promises of a bright future. But like many who go from stardom to retirement, he rode it up then spiraled down and spent several difficult years battling guilt, shame and a whole lotta shoulda, woulda, coulda’s. Throughout the retreat, he tried to mask his past pain and struggle. But he was also transparent with us sharing how he had climbed a mountain of drug and alcohol addiction, encountered death, and put himself through successful rehabilitation efforts.
Fast forward to this Sunday morning in June, where I found myself in a sun-filled log cabin listening to this man sum up his takeaway from Soul Degree. He spoke with thoughtful eloquence making one thing very evident – he got what he came for.
“I came to this retreat kicking and screaming. I had myself convinced it was a bad idea. But my time over the past few days has clarified why I am here. I now see more clearly the degree to which I have caused destruction - to myself and my beliefs. Throughout my life I have held myself to totally unrealistic expectations and subsequently never lived up. I have beat myself up over these failures, deeming myself unworthy of anything or anyone. To this end, I stand before all of you and commit to myself to put the f*cking bat down.”
Whamo. I immediately felt like I had been hit over the head with a bat.
While I may not have walked in this guys’ same footsteps, I could relate. My inner dialogue had always been about not believing I was good enough. As soon as he revealed his honest shortcomings, it occurred to me that I was wielding my own bat. And not the fun kind you knock baseballs around with but the destructive kind that you use as a weapon against your own confidence.
In that moment he was sharing his revelation, I saw him step onto path a path of healing. I then had the experience of grabbing his hand, the one he had just released the bat from, and choosing to follow his lead. I suddenly felt like his equal and committed myself to ending my self-flagellation.
Looking back I realize the tears I shed while listening to him drop truth bombs were filled with sorrow and pain, joy and relief. Sorrow and pain for how long and aggressively I had been swinging my own bat. Joy for the light that shines in when we finally choose to put the bat down. And relief by the feeling that by laying this weapon to rest, I had set a part of me free. Evidently, I too got what I came for.
Ask yourself and let us know: Are you holding your own self-destructive weapon? What are you swinging the bat at specifically? Can you think of ways to soften the blows or even silence the abuse? Is there someone in your world that would help you put the bat down and support your healing journey?