Conflict
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Christen has nearly lost her mind in these last few hours. Maybe she actually has, she isn't sure. She’s numb to her surroundings, numb to her emotions, knowing she’s home with Becky Sauerbrunn sitting next to her, surreptitiously giving her looks of concern. Kling is here as well, sitting behind them at the kitchen table, on her phone, texting and speaking in hushed tones to the group that left here an hour ago.
Her mind keeps replaying the evening, how it all started. Her and Tobin were talking about where to spend the upcoming holidays. Upcoming, meaning in the next six months. Christen is a planner. Tobin is a planner as well, but her methods aren’t nearly as precise as Christen’s and usually she can overlook Tobin being casual about things but not today. Today Christen was on edge and her need to have plans in place was urgent. She didn't know exactly why but it didn't stop her from ragging on Tobin to get her family thinking about where they were spending Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's Eve.
Today, she is pressing her, repeatedly asking Tobin if she’s called her Mom or talked to her Dad. Asking her if she’s given thought to trying to host both families this year, maybe in LA or here in Portland. She knows she’s being unreasonable in her need to have a plan, it’s just that this is the second year without her Mom and she wants to know what to expect and for some reason, she needs to know right now. Tonight. She can’t help herself. It’s the middle of September and Christen really needs to have a plan in place and somehow this plan needs to come together tonight and she's aggravated that her fiance is being a bit too casual about it.
Well, right now is when Tobin was trying to get out of the house to go to a meeting for the Thorns before their game against the Royals on Sunday in two days. Christen had managed to fly out after practice today and had been looking forward to spending time with her fiancé.
Christen is very aware that Tobin is one of the most caring people she knows and she’s usually very perceptive Christen’s moods and needs, yet she is frustrated she’s unable to make Tobin understand how she really needs an answer right now and Tobin isn’t picking up on it. As inopportune as it is. Tobin has grown frustrated, sighing deeply as she gathers her keys and looks at her, her warm brown eyes searching for any clue of how to pacify Christen in this moment.
“I’ll call my Mom and get the ball rolling,” she promises, “and we can figure this out when I get back, okay?” She’s being as diplomatic as possible, which Christen appreciates, yet she also feels bad for putting her in this situation, but she also needs an answer.
Christen’s anxiety hasn’t peaked liked this in a while and she knows it catches Tobin off guard. Tobin steps towards her, wrapping her arms around her and kissing her just at the corner of her mouth, “I promise I’ll get on it tonight, okay?” she murmurs.
Christen nods, she knows her face is showing disappointment and she just can’t help it. “Okay,” she breathes out, stepping out of her grasp, feeling grateful to Tobin yet knowing her tone is clearly stating some exasperation. Tobin gives her a regretful look and Christen is pretty sure Tobin feels disappointed she doesn’t have time to fix this right now to satisfy her.
“You said your meeting is scheduled to end at six?” Christen remembers confirming with her, “I can start dinner before then,” she offers, trying to extend a small olive branch of peace.
“Sounds great,” Tobin says half heartedly with a small grin, one that doesn’t reach her eyes. Christen looks at her and frowns, seeing a little defeat in Tobin’s eyes.
“We can work on it later,” Christen dismisses, waving her hand, “it’s okay,”
Tobin frowns, confused if this is some unusual passive aggressive thing or truly an honest statement, “I said I’ll work on it,” she says gently, “I will when I get back,”
“No, it’s alright,” Christen tries again earnestly, “I’m just in my head,” she shrugs, “we can do it later,”
“Chris,” Tobin says, frowning and stepping close to kiss her again, “we’ll do it tonight,” she states evenly, “no problem,”
Now Christen is frustrated, feeling like she’s making Tobin feel as if she has to cater to her every whim, even the ones that are motivated by her anxiety, “Whatever,” she says, more frustrated at herself and the situation than anything Tobin has done.
There's a weighted silence in the room before Tobin speaks.
“Later, babe,” she says quietly, “love you,”
As soon as Tobin left, Christen immediately went to the balcony, her place of solace, the place she enjoys just being and clearing her head. The place she spends most of her mornings, weather permitting, to read and relax and prepare herself for the day. She’s desperately needing to center herself and lose this edginess she felt. She fidgets in the chair, it's suddenly uncomfortable and now the balcony feels too small, too sterile and not comforting and she can’t concentrate on attempting to gain any peace since she was too upset with herself for how she treated Tobin.
She realizes she’s out of control and should seriously consider seeing her therapist again when she returns to Utah. She’s been struggling to navigate a new normal without her Mother being a part of it, balancing her feelings and emotions and anger in the injustice of losing her in the first place. She’s spent many hours on the comfortable sofa in her therapist’s office, talking about loss, grief and her anxiety issues.
When Coivd-19 struck the country and her and Tobin decided to shelter in place in Portland, she kept her daily routines, kept up her yoga and her journaling and readings and occasionally checking in with her therapist via video chats and phone calls. She truly was feeling better.
Then when the racial unrest came to a head and team meetings and player group chats turned into deep thoughts and hard conversations about race and inequality and what is equitable, things began to slowly unravel for her.
She was being bombarded by her teammates who were asking what to do. She wasn't used to being looked at as a black player, it never was something that had come up before. Now, her teammates were looking to her and it was exhausting and she didn’t have the answers. Some of her white teammates had absolutely no clue to their privilege nor latent racism and bringing up those examples was difficult and took an emotional of all of them. Kelley was hurt because she felt targeted, trying to explain how some of those instances were jokes and she didn’t mean it and not realizing how hurtful they were. Many of the Royals expected or assumed Christen would really work on Kelley’s disposition and that felt like a burden.
Christen didn’t have her Mom to rely on, her sounding board, her go to person for advice. Grand Fran helped but it wasn’t the same and it sent her down the well of grief just a little deeper.
Connecting with other black players in the NWSL had been a Godsend. Together they crafted a message for their teammates, an offering of suggestions of how they could use their platforms to amplify the voices of black people. Christen felt a disconnect even from the Royals’ team chat when she opted out of the Challenge Cup. Her teammates were vocal of their support her decision, yet she felt guilty for doing it even though she was fearful of the virus entering the bubble and leaving players in the league sick and left with lifelong health complications. It appeared that each day brought new devastating effects from the virus and her and Tobin did not want to risk it.
Yet there was some sort of disconnect. Especially when they started playing matches. Gone was the group training via Zoom, gone were the emails to her on offensive plays and set pieces. Tobin felt it as well with the Thorns and they both admitted it hurt and they felt left out.
They both maintained steady communication with their teammates, but both felt the rub of not being there. The inside jokes. The talk of what happened during their allotted pool time. The coffee runs. They did what they could.
Now, with her unintentionally jerking Tobin around with her passive aggressive tactics, she feels she needs to get a handle on it. She needs to get in touch with her therapist. She doesn’t want to hurt Tobin like this again. That’s not her. That’s not who she wants to be.
Christen is a woman of action and while she had spent her days educating herself on systemic racism and the true history of blacks in America, she had neglected to maintain her mental health routine. Her therapist still offered video chats, yet there was something odd to her about pouring her out to a computer screen. So she stopped doing it. She realizes now that it was a mistake and she had tricked herself into thinking she was just stressed by current events and not by her own growing instability.
This epiphany calmed her, she now had a plan of action and soon would put in the work to get back on track. It wouldn't be easy but she was willing to put in the work to get back her life and ease the obsessive thoughts. She resolves that if her therapist encourages some medication, she would do it. She doesn't ever want to be in this state again.
Christen was only out there on the balcony for less than twenty minutes before she would feel fear and terror like she's never before as her world turns upside down.
And now she sits here, on edge and trembling, her thoughts scattered in a million directions, her emotions all over the place. There's a pit in her stomach and she feels queasy, her mouth is dry and eyes are wet.
She gasps softly and turns to look at Becky. She can only stare at her with this thought that has raced to the forefront of her mind.
"What, Chris?' Becky asks gently, laying a hand on her knee.
"I didn't say I love you," Christen says, her words rushed and running together. "When Tobin left, she said I love you," she says urgently, her filled with regret, "I didn't say it back," she cries, the tears coming once again, hard regret filled sobs emanating from her.
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