“Yes.”
She watches me for a second, like she’s lining something up.
“And in your personal life?” she asks. “Outside of hockey.”
I don’t answer right away. I can talk about my own challenges with communication all day long. From the problem Isometimes have trying to get all my information out. Like I can formulate it, but I can’t share because I need to slow down my thoughts, like they’re all happening at once. I can also talk you to sleep about my overanalyzing. From the smile I gave my neighbor at the condo this morning to the last thing I said to Vivian, I go over it at least ten times when I’m walking away…and that’s to start.
Don’t get me started on social situations these days. Suddenly, they’re the simple things that keep me up at night. It can be debilitating when you spend all of your time after a press briefing wondering what you said, how you came across, and what people think of you.
I’m not in a position where I should be worried about what people think about me, really. They talk crap online if I don’t play well, they talk about me like a hero if I do. I just try to keep my head down and enjoy the game, because that’s why I’m on the ice.
But, Dr. Hale wants to talk about my personal life. Off the ice.
“Has there been anything recently in your personal circles,” she continues, “where you don’t know the outcome? Something that feels less mapped out?”
My brain doesn’t even hesitate. Vivian’s face appears as if on cue. Standing on her porch. Barefoot. Hair damp. Holding a pizza like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. Laughing at herself. Looking at me like she didn’t expect me to be there.
“Okay,” Dr. Hale says lightly. “What was that face?”
I stare at her, refocusing. “Nothing.”
She raises a brow. “That was not nothing.”
I exhale through my nose, glancing down at my hands. “It’s about a person,” I say.
“Ah,” she says, like that explains everything. “Those are tricky.”
I huff out a quiet breath. “Yeah, she is…but also, she isn’t.”
“Do you want to tell me about her?”
I hesitate. Not because I don’t have the words. I do. I always do. It’s more that once I start, I don’t know where it ends.
“She’s…” I pause, adjusting slightly in my seat. “She’s not predictable.”
Dr. Hale smiles a little. “And that’s a problem for you.”
“Yes.” I take a beat, shaking my head after. Then I add, “No.”
Her smile widens just slightly. “Interesting.”
I scrub a hand over the back of my neck. “I don’t know what she’s going to say. Or do. Conversations don’t follow a pattern. She…” I stop, recalibrating. “She’s made me pause and question my own way of doing things. I guess she’s made me look at my own patterns.”
“How does that feel?”
I think about it. About the bracelet. About the way my focus narrowed without me meaning it to.
“Like I’m paying attention,” I say. “Because I want to know what she says.”
Dr. Hale does her therapist nod. “And that’s different from usual?”
“Yes.”
She nods slowly. “Okay. That’s important.”
I frown slightly. “Why?”
“Because it’s not overwhelm,” she says. “You’re not describing distress. You’re describing engagement.”
