Page 80 of Breakaway
"No. He's in Miami. He's been here the last few days, though. He came because things got bad."
"Bad how?"
"I don't know. I stopped answering the phone. I stopped doing a lot of things. So he came."
She nods. "That's a big step for someone to take."
"It was."
The silence again. It is not the silence I am used to filling. In Dr. Pryce's office in October, the silence was a space I could pour ratings and anecdotes into until the forty-five minutes were up. This silence has a different weight. This silence is waiting for me to put the real thing in it, and I am not going to do that.
"Tell me about your family," she says.
"My parents are in Switzerland. I grew up outside Zürich. My sister is there."
"Are you close with them?"
"My mother calls. She worries."
"What does she worry about?"
"If I'm eating. If I'm injured. Standard stuff."
"Anything she doesn't ask about?"
"No." The word comes out too fast. I can feel the speed of it and I know she can hear the speed of it. "I mean. She doesn't ask about my personal life. She never has. We don't go there."
"Is that something you'd want to explore at some point?"
"Not today."
"That's fine. For today, I want you to notice how much your life changed in a very short period of time. You changed jobs unexpectedly, which caused you to move to Atlanta, which caused a shift in your relationship. Each of those are major life changes and stressors. You went through all of those at the same time. That’s a lot to carry."
I nod while she’s saying this. I hadn’t thought about it the way she’s saying it, but it’s true.
She shifts on the couch. Her pen still has not touched the notebook. "I want to ask you one practical question. Has anyone talked to you about medication?"
"Any medication I start has to go through the team doctor. And I don't think I want to start anything right now. We're in a playoff push and I can't be adjusting to side effects in the middle of a season."
"That's fair. We can revisit that in the summer if you feel it would help." She sets the pen down on the notebook, the first time she has moved it at all. "In the meantime, there are some things we can work with that don't involve medication. Breathing techniques. Structured ones, not just 'take a deep breath.' Patterns you can use when things escalate."
"Okay."
"There's also a grounding method. Five things you can see, four you can hear, three you can touch, two you can smell, one you can taste. It pulls you back into the room when your mind is somewhere else."
"A countdown."
"More or less. It works because it forces the senses to do something specific. Your brain can't spiral and count at the same time." She pauses. "I'd also recommend getting outside. Not training. Not the rink. Sunlight, movement, no performance attached to it. A walk. Twenty minutes."
"I can do a walk."
"And thought records. When you notice a thought that's doing damage, you write it down. What the thought is, what triggered it, and then you challenge it. Not to replace it with something positive. Just to see if it holds up."
I look at her. The phrase doing damage sits in the air between us like she placed it there on purpose and is waiting to see if I pick it up.
"That's a lot of homework for a first session," I say.
"You don't have to use all of them. Try one. See what fits." She picks the pen back up. "I'd like to set up a regular time if you're open to continuing. I have Thursdays."
