I attended my first wrestling match in 2006. I met my husband and quickly learned he was part of a wrestling family. A wrestling family is a group of people who grow up watching, understanding, and eternally loving wrestling, whether you participate in matches as a wrestler or not. These peoples are born knowing the definitions of words like, “sprawl,” “single-leg,” “locked hands” and “back points,” to name a few.
When I met Hubs, his little brother was a high school wrestler, who became a college wrestler, and attending his matches was a fun, warm pastime for a couple of childless DINKS with nothing to do all winter.
Wrestling surprised me right away. I’d never seen so much aggression or brute force unleashed legally, with rules and regulations, whistles and spectators. Not to mention leotards without ballet shoes. That part was weird. The wrestlers were sweaty and muscular, each trying to prove their strength and dexterity gladiator style—in a round ring surrounded by anyone interested to watch, and the few of others who were prayerfully indoctrinated by means of paying for our tickets.
My father wasn’t much of a sportsman. He was a hard worker, quiet and peaceful, who spent time working, boating, or taking us girls for a bike ride on a paved path near our house.
The wrestling gym is something entirely different from a quiet marina or peaceful nature path.
Screeching whistles, loud buzzers, screaming fans, and the blaring echo of each of those sounds penetrates your brain. It’s a cortisol spike, for sure, and for a mom watching her kid, it can be stressful, which may induce screaming. Not for all moms….but certainly some.
I’ve taken my yogi training very seriously these last few years. I grew up a pretty stressed out kid and seek peace a more quiet existence as an adult.
Finding peace in a wrestling match is a new kind of challenge.
I watch my boys compete in silence. I clap and nod and smile. They can’t see me or hear me when they’re wrestling, but I’m happy to sit beside the mat, encouraging them with my spirit.
Suffice it to say, I’m not sure I fit into the “wrestler mom” box. Not that there IS an actual box, but if there was one, I think it would have neon lights, team flair, matches whistles, Pom Pom winter gates,and Nike high tops. Just a guess.
“How do you remain so calm?” a mom asked me last week. “How can you just stand there while they’re tearing each other apart?”
The answer to that one is easy: “I can love and support my kids without shouting and screaming for them.”
My children hear and feel my support before and after their matches, in a way I feel comfortable giving it. They haven’t complained about this yet.
But I’m attendance of these matches, I find myself strangely affected by the surrounding parents, shrieking instructions at kids who are focused, in the zone, and clearly can’t hear anyone. Some parents (clearly not all of them) are so fully charged and spewing instructions at their children that I feel disturbed.
Why do I give a hoot? Why bother to be bothered?
The answer to that question is harder. Why should I care at all how other parents are reacting in the gym? Why is THAT the piece of the wrestling puzzle I’m alarmed by?
I think I feel embarrassed. Not for the kids. The kids are just trying not to get pinned, learning the nuances of this sport, deciding which new techniques to use and when, working to figure things out in the 60 seconds allotted for each round.
Am I embarrassed for the parents? They sound so riled up. A part of my brain is asking, “Aren’t adults supposed to know how to control themselves?”
But let’s be clear: there are no profanities shouted: nothing has been said that is harmful to children, so who cares?
I didn’t have parents shouting at my sporting events as a kid. My parents were working and couldn’t attend. Maybe the shouts of those parents are a reminder of what I never had—- a loud, proud, vocalization of support— a desire to see your kid succeed and a ringing proclamation of such for all to hear.
I grew up with a general assumption: when others make me uncomfortable, they must be doing something wrong. But in reality, this is almost never the case. We get uncomfortable more often because of our own baggage, memories, and personalities.
I think the knee jerk reaction in any moment is to notice discomfort (ie- I don’t like when people yell) and assume something is bad about the specific people causing discomfort. But life is not so simple. There is more nuance to this world than that. Yelling in the same space as me is not a means to take issue. It’s not a reason to wag a finger and think, “eww, those people!”
But plenty of time, I do it anyway. This is the basis of judgement. I have a feeling, look at the cause, and make assumptions about people I know nothing about.
So, here comes the peace.
Feeling discomfort is a moment to stop and consider: What don’t I like? Why don’t I like it?
More often than not, the answer is simply that my “preference” is different because people are different. And that’s all. I feel different and don’t always know what to do about it.
The peace comes in noticing. The peace comes in asking questions and considering what to do with new information as I absorb it. Then I find peace.
What brought you peace this week? Share the peace!
4 the Love of Peace 