Playing Through the Injury Won't Make the Hurt Go Away

Catching up with my BFF this week, and she mentioned, “You have been off your game lately.”

Huh? "What do you mean, I AM off my game?!”

I know I spiraled, but I caught myself, put the phone down, wrote my blog, and climbed out of the rabbit hole.

Her next comment? “And you beat yourself up for the next 48 hours thinking you should have known better!”

That pissed me off. Not because she called me out on it.

Because I, the franchise player of my own life, should have never fallen into that trap!

Crap! She is right — something is off with my game!

With the NBA playoffs about a month out, the franchise player in me — the one who calls the plays in her own life — did what she always does when something feels off: started pulling the whole operation apart to find the “root cause.”

What’s Throwing Me Off My Game?

Did what everyone does when they feel "off" and can’t quite name why — started questioning the usual suspects — the external influences.

Could it be physical? The norovirus was rough, but that was two weeks ago. Hard to blame it on being off my game for the past six months. Ruled out.

Could it be the noise? The world is loud right now. But honestly, it’s been loud since COVID. So that’s not it either.

Could it be the people around me? Is someone draining me? Is my support system still solid? My parents. My sisters. My son. Chris. My friends. All of them solid as ever. Nope, not them.

Could it be my own standards? My three rules — Be Kind, Be Thoughtful, Be Present. Unchanged since 2015. Crossed that off the list.

Ran out of usual suspects.
Kept going back to the game films.
Looked for the thing I missed.

Drove me crazy for days.
You know that nagging feeling —
when something’s just off, and you can’t quite point to the culprit?

Then it hit me.
It’s me. I’m the issue!

Why Can't I Get Over Something That Happened Months Ago?

When AI restructured me, I felt relief.
But my ego?

It got butt-hurt.

I’d been saying I wanted out for five years, yet the “thanks for your service, don’t let the door hit you on the way out” felt like a cheap shot to my ego — because I didn’t see it coming.

And instead of calling it out right then and there, I played through it. Taped it up. Told myself it wasn’t that bad.

Honestly? I wish someone had looked at me and said, “What? You got your feelings hurt! Rub some dirt on it and get back in the game!” At least then I would have dealt with it.

Instead, I let it fester.
And it turned septic.

It spread. Quietly.
Into my confidence.
Into my reads.
Into my interactions.
Into my ability to trust my own calls.

That's on me.
Not on my team for not noticing.
On me.

My Self felt relieved because I got out of the Hunger Games alive.
My Ego took a beating because I didn't get to end my career on MY TERMS.

They are not the same thing. Yet I treated them as the same — the feeling of relief was what I needed in that moment to mask the injury.

And I spent six months not realizing the injury had quietly turned septic and taken hold.

I missed it. If I missed something like this, what else am I missing?

Yup, will be beating myself up this upcoming week with that revelation!

My moves this week?

To NAME IT — because saying it out loud is my way to put the sepsis on notice. Time to call the team doctor.

To ADMIT IT — to my team, to everyone reading this blog, and most importantly to me — as the first step in reclaiming control of my game.

Your Move?

Maybe for you it wasn’t a restructuring. Maybe it was a marriage that ended with lawyers. A friendship that just went silent. A room you used to walk into and own, and one day you noticed you were just standing quietly at the buffet line.

What’s the hit you’ve been calling fine — the one that’s actually been running your life without permission?

Whatever “it” is for you:

Don’t wait for your BFF to call it out.
Don’t wait until the wound goes septic.
Untreated injuries don’t stay quiet.
They just find new ways to make themselves known.

Life interrupted you for a reason.
Naming it is a move.

When you are ready.
Dust yourself off.
Get your ass back in the game.

Make ONE Move.

P.S. Wondering why you’ve been ignoring your version of the “hit” — the one that’s festering behind the scenes? I did the homework. The Research Behind… “Why High Performers Hide the Injury” drops Monday at 10 AM.

P.P.S. For women in the Unscripted Middle — between who they were, who they are today, and who they’ll be — if a friend sent this to you and you thought ‘that’s me,’ pull up a chair every Sunday by subscribing.