“Most people aren’t,” Alice said gently. “Especially people who’ve learned that depending on others leads to disappointment.”
The words landed somewhere soft and bruised in my chest.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Something like that.”
We talked for another 40 minutes. About my mom, who loved me but didn’t understand me. About the pressure ofcompeting at the elite level. About the part of me that still felt like a fraud, even when I was landing quads and standing on podiums.
“You’ve mentioned your mom a few times,” Alice said. “I’m curious where your dad fits into the picture for you.”
I shifted on the floor, my tailbone starting to ache. “They divorced when I was 13.”
“That must have been difficult.”
“It was.” I stared at a spot on the wall above the iPad. “And I know I’m not supposed to blame myself for it. That’s like Therapy 101. But...”
“But?”
“It was about me. The divorce. At least partly.” I exhaled slowly. “My dad’s obsessed with Avery’s hockey career. He’d been a player himself—nothing major, college level—but he had all these hockey dreams for us when we were kids and then I quit playing. But Avery… he was a little superstar from an early age. Dad drove him to every practice, every game, every tournament. They’d watch tape together. It was their thing.”
“And you?”
“I was figure skating.” I huffed out a humourless laugh. “Which, in my dad’s mind, was not a real sport. Too feminine. Too artistic. He wanted me to play hockey like Avery. I tried until I was seven. Hated every second.”
“What did you hate about it?”
“The chaos. The aggression. Constantly being compared to my brother who was a superior player in every way. I wanted—” I paused, trying to find the words. “I wanted something for myself. I loved the skating part but I wanted precision. Control. I wanted to fly.”
“That’s a beautiful way to put it.”
“My mom understood. She’s the one who signed me up for figure skating lessons. She fought for me to keep going when mydad wanted to pull me out. They used to scream at each other about it.” I picked at my sleeve again. “She thought they should be spending equal energy on both of us. He thought she was wasting money on a pipe dream.”
“That sounds like a lot for a child to witness.”
“It was.” My throat felt tight. “And then they split up and I knew—I knew—it was because of me. Because she chose me and my skating over keeping the peace with him.”
Alice was quiet for a moment. “Did she ever say that?”
“No. She would never. But I could do the math.”
“Sometimes the math we do in our heads doesn’t add up to reality.”
“Maybe.” I didn’t believe it. “Anyway. When I started winning—like, really winning—it felt like a big ‘fuck you’ to my dad. Proof that he was wrong. That figure skating wasn’t a waste. That I wasn’t a waste.”
“And now?”
The question hung in the air. I watched Aspen’s ribcage rise and fall with his slow, sleeping breaths.
“Now I crashed out,” I said flatly. “I was on the brink of greatness—the Olympics were within my grasp… then I passed out after a competition. In front of my teammates, my coaches, my mom.” I didn’t even remember blacking out. I just remembered feeling dizzy and needing to sit down and the next thing I knew, I was waking up on a stretcher. “They took me to the hospital and my levels were... bad. Really bad. I wasn’t eating. I was taking too much Adderall to keep going. My body just... gave up.”
“That sounds terrifying.”
“It was embarrassing.” The word came out sharp. “I was supposed to be at the top of my game. I was supposed to prove everyone wrong. And instead I collapsed like some fragile little—” I stopped myself. Took a breath. “I ended up in a treatment facility in Montréal. Ninety days.”
“That’s a significant commitment. How was that experience?”
“Hell.” I laughed but there was no humour in it. “And also... necessary, I guess. I had to relearn how to eat. How to cope with stress and anxiety without leaning on bad habits. How to exist in my own body without punishing it.”
Alice nodded slowly. “It sounds like you’ve done a lot of work to get where you are now.”
