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A Tale of Tennis, Mean Girls and the Self
My first tennis lesson takes place on a warm autumn day.
I’m wearing my favorite leggings and feeling proud of myself for picking up an old hobby. The coach seems friendly and asks me to jog around the court as a warm-up. It feels good to be moving again, and I immediately feel stronger. Chronic anxiety and fatigue have kept me stagnant for too long.
My forehand, apparently, is promising and I take pride in sweeping the racket all the way up to my left shoulder after hitting the ball. By the time we are doing volleys, I’m convinced I could be a tennis pro. Maybe I can register in the tournament that was advertised at the club entrance…
I miss the ball, and my daydreams are interrupted by a burst of loud laughter.
I notice a woman and an adolescent girl sitting on chairs facing the courts, their eyes fixed on me. Soon it becomes clear that the laughter erupts every time I miss the ball. I try to focus on the swing of my arms, but can’t help notice—from the corner of my eye—the girl doing an impression of me failing to reach the ball, much to the delight of the older lady.
It suddenly feels hard to focus on the game, and I become increasingly clumsy.
I feel exposed and helpless, and soon tears are stinging my eyes. The failed hits continue, and the laughter continues. I don’t know if the burning in my face is from the heat or from humiliation. But there is nothing to do but keep playing.
By the time my session is over, the pair have dispersed and I want to crawl under a rock, never to emerge again. I do the closest thing available to me in that moment and pass by my parents’ place on my way home.
“How was tennis?” my mother asks as soon as I walk in.
“There were two mean people, making fun of me and being mean,” I blurt out.
She is silent for a moment. “But the tennis was fun?”
“Well…yes, except for the mean people being mean.”
A few convincing impressions of evil laughter later, my mom’s expression has changed from curiosity to scorn.
An image of her from thirty years ago comes back to me. It is one of the most vivid memories I have of my mother from childhood. Standing in Mostafa Kamel Square, clad in black denim, a leather jacket and reflective sunglasses—hair glossy, arms crossed, jaw set.
By this age, I am walking home alone so the sight of her at our school bus stop surprises me.
I step off the bus and she asks me to point out the two girls who made me cry the previous day. Sliding her sunglasses up on her head, she gets on the bus and walks straight to the back row. All heads turn. I don’t hear what she says, but the bullies freeze and mumble something in response. My mom turns around and walks back to the front of the bus. Again, all heads turn. The girls never bothered me again.
One of the hardest parts of being an adult for me is having to stand up for myself. I often feel vulnerable and powerless, and consequently avoid new situations and experiences. The therapeutic modality Internal Family Systems (IFS) helped me to see my mind as having parts, each with its own perspective and role.
“Exiles” are the vulnerable parts that carry pain, shame, and trauma. “Managers” seek to control life and keep us safe, and “Firefighters” are the reactive parts that numb or distract us. At the core is the “Self,” our wise and balanced center. The goal of this therapy is to connect with and strengthen the Self. Deep breathing, mindfulness, journaling, and visualizations are all tools to this end. On most days, my exiles demand a little too much attention, my managers are a little too eager, and my firefighters create more drama than a Bollywood soap opera.
In preparation for my next tennis lesson, I sit down on my sofa and convene a meeting between these factions of my psyche.
I meditate for a full twenty minutes and jot down some empowering affirmations.
I visualize myself ignoring all the noise on the tennis court, my attention only on the fuzzy, yellow ball.
I connect to the capital-S Self. That part of me is strong and confident, assertive and calm. She isn’t easily intimidated, and doesn’t shy away from speaking up or setting boundaries. And today, she is wearing black denim, a leather jacket and reflective sunglasses.
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