Vachon Imagined

When I was in elementary school, I loved gym—at least when it involved something I wanted to do, which was usually kickball or softball. But when it came time for basketball or volleyball, two sports that seemed specifically designed for people who had the audacity to keep growing, everything changed. At five feet tall now, I can confirm that whatever growth spurt everyone else was waiting for never actually arrived.

I still wanted to be picked.

Over time, though, I developed a defense mechanism without realizing it. I told myself I didn’t care. I walked around as if nothing bothered me, when in truth it did. I had a deep need to be chosen, but I pretended not to. In doing so, I created a division within myself that many adults later describe as imposter syndrome.

I became an imposter to myself.

But pretending not to care came with a price. To protect myself, I adopted an attitude that looked independent from the outside but was really self-protection. I became a little arrogant, a little aloof, a little detached. If I acted like I didn’t want to be picked, then no one could know how much it hurt when I wasn’t.

The problem is that learned behaviors rarely stay where they begin. You don’t get to decide which parts of your life they affect. They follow you.

So that same pattern followed me into something I genuinely loved: dance.

There, too, I pretended I didn’t care when I did. I cared that I wasn’t always chosen for the solo. I cared that I wasn’t selected for the competitive team. Dance was something I was good at, but my conditioning often got in the way. Somewhere along the line, protecting myself from disappointment became more important than admitting what I wanted.

Mental practice matters in everything we do, both on and off the court. But perhaps even more important is building a relationship with that deeper foundation of life that knows the truth about us.

It knows we care when we pretend we don’t.

It knows our fears, our ambitions, our disappointments, and our hopes.

The reward of that relationship is that nothing has to be hidden anymore.

You can see these things clearly in yourself without shame. You can admit that you want to be chosen. You can acknowledge what hurts, what matters, and what you love.

You can be fully confident and fully bold, not because you’ve stopped caring, but because something deeper than your fears already knows you completely and accepts all of you.

Even the parts that pretend not to care.