The Truth Behind a Smile

By Ally Edgington | IG: @ally_edgington

The hardest thing was stepping back and finally accepting that something was wrong. For so long, I believed that I was fine. It was just a little pain, what is the matter with that. I had two different voices in my mind. They were constantly fighting with each other. One would say, “Ally you are so stupid, sit down and take a break.” The other, “Ally you are the weakest person I know, suck it up and keep playing. If you quit now, you’ll never forgive yourself.” I believed that I was weak. I believed that I was a burden. I believed that I was annoying, and dumb, and stupid. 

I was lying on the floor of the court midway through a game. I had just landed on a girl's foot and wanted to start screaming in pain. The entire space around me went silent. I could hear the faint whispers of my teammates, but could not make out the words. Everything seemed so muffled. I felt the eyes of everyone around me just staring me down. At that moment, I just wanted to yell. I just wanted to be back up on the court hitting and blocking again. I couldn’t even make out what hurt or describe what it felt like. Everything flashed before my eyes. All I knew was that everything had changed, and not for the better. 

It’s so easy to cover your emotions with a smile. It’s so much easier than saying, “I need help” or “I am not okay.” As humans, when someone sees a smile we immediately think that person is happy. After this injury, I was so afraid to say anything that I realized smiling avoided 90% of the questions I did not want to answer. I was terrified. I did not know what my future looked like. The only thing I wanted was for things to go back to normal. I just wanted to play volleyball, not in pain, and be happy. That seemed like too much to ask for. I slipped away, but no one knew. I would go to school, a smile would be on my face. I would go to practice, a smile would be on my face. I would get home and lay in bed and as soon as the lights went out, I would cry. 

I found out a few weeks later that I needed surgery. My knee cap was loose and they needed to replace the ligament. I remember leaving the doctor’s office and just staring. I stared at the bright yellow lines on the ground and the sway of the trees in the wind. I put myself into autopilot. I didn’t speak a single word or move a single muscle. One small tear rolled down my cheek and I watched it drip to my leg. This quickly became a waterfall of emotions. My life was over. 

Volleyball was my identity, it was my outlet. I had a bad day at school, well at least I get to go to volleyball practice and release my stress and see my best friends. Volleyball was the one thing I could do that made me feel completely free. I walked onto the court and all of my outside worries went away. I had a genuine smile and enjoyed every minute of playing. Without volleyball that smile quickly became fake, I didn’t know who I was. 

My last tournament was so hard. I decided to continue playing until I literally could not because I could not make it any worse. The only thing I could think about was how much I did not want to admit that the amount of pain I was in was unbearable. I did not want to tell my coaches to take me out. What if they thought I was weak? What if they hate me? What if they think I do not care? All of these thoughts kept me on the court. No matter how many times they told me otherwise, I only believed the thoughts that I had created. I was afraid of disappointment. I faked a smile the entire time. I did not want to worry about worrying other people. All I wanted to do was have fun, but fun was so hard to come by. I kept telling myself that today may have been painful but tomorrow would be so much fun, but every time I touched a ball it was just pain and more pain and more pain. 

I remember it was the second game of the second day and I was set, when I landed I felt a huge pop. My knee had just popped out of place. This happened often. I was used to it, however, it was so painful. I did not want to stop playing, I wanted to prove to myself that I could keep playing. The ball sailed out of bounds. I just stood there, not saying anything. If I said something, I would have screamed. I kept my mouth shut and kept playing. The next point I got a kill, I could not even celebrate. It hurt too bad.

Everytime I touched the ball I felt something move in my knee. Everytime I went to hit the ball, I saw the blocker on the other side and became nervous. Everytime I went to block, I saw the hitter and could only think about where her feet landed in comparison to mine. I silenced myself from being able to say my worries out loud. Saying something made me less of an athlete, that is what I believed. I realized now that not saying anything was making me worse of a player.

I got home that night and laid in bed with tears flooding down my face. I was so lost. I had no idea who I was. I needed volleyball, without it I was nothing. All I could think about were easy ways out. I did not want to fight anymore. I just wanted to be free. I wanted to feel that freedom that I was addicted to. The rush of adrenaline from getting that perfect hit. Crying myself to sleep became a nightly ritual. No matter how many times I was told it would get better, I never believed it. I had never felt so alone. 

I had surgery three weeks later. The surgery was successful and surprisingly the physical pain of surgery was nowhere near the pain I was in before. The mental pain hurt so much worse. I was a person who never stopped to breathe. I loved being busy and I hated being bored. No one understands the pain of losing everything until they lose it. I had to be given everything. I felt like a baby. I could not lift my own leg. I struggled to get in and out of bed by myself. Using the bathroom was this big ordeal. All my independence was thrown away. 

I love going to practice to watch my teammates. I still feel like I am part of my team and my best friends are on this team. I could only ever see them at practice because they lived so far away. However, it made me feel even more alone. All I wanted to do was jump in and start playing. Nothing is worse than watching everyone else get better while you are sitting there feeling like you are getting worse. I believed that when I came back I would never be the same volleyball player that left the court. I believed I was going to suck. While I still have not been cleared to play, I have finally begun to believe that my future in volleyball is not ruined. 

I drove four hours to a tournament with my team. It was my spring break and I had nothing better to do. This opened my eyes to a different perspective on my injury. It was one thing to be on the sidelines at practice. It was another thing to finally accept the fact that I could not play. I kept denying it and denying it and denying it. I realized that I could be more than just the “injured one.” I had labeled myself that. The one that can’t do anything. I quickly realized I could do something. I could be there for my teammates even if it wasn’t on the court. 

Losing identity is scary. Not knowing what is in the future is scary. Injuries are scary. For me, I let my mental health slip away, refusing to accept that I needed help and that I was not okay both physically and mentally. I let myself close so much off to the people I loved, including my parents, my friends, and my coaches. I was mentally exhausted and overwhelmed. It’s okay to not be okay. It’s how you fight that defines you. I chose to fight, and one day I will be back on the court playing. Even when it feels like there is nothing else left, like everything has gone wrong, it is important to remember that it will get better on the other side. 

We joke all the time, “I’ll just throw myself off a bridge,” when we don’t want to take a test or face that practice after a bad loss or finish an assignment or go to work. But what happens when it’s no longer a joke? What happens when you hint at these actions and no one believes you? What happens when you start taking every breath you take for granted? Spiraling is scary, and it’s even scarier when you feel alone. Noah Kahan reminds us, “Don’t let this darkness fool you. All lights turned off can be turned on.” I felt like all the lights were turned off and it was hard for me to believe that they could ever turn back on. Slowly, that light fades back and it gets better. Next time you see a smile, think about what it really means? Is it a smile of happiness? Or a smile of fear?