It was Friday, May 31, and I was still waiting for my coffee to kick me out of my bleary-eyed, pre-work, under-caffeinated state of semi-existence. “Invitation for 2019 USA IPF/NAPF Open National Team,” said the subject line.

Puzzled, I clicked on the email and continued reading.

“Congratulations! Your outstanding performance at the 2018 USA Powerlifting Raw or Equipped National Powerlifting Championships has qualified you to compete at the 17th Annual IPF/NAPF North American Regional Powerlifting Championships will be held on August 5 to August 11, 2019 at the Holiday Inn — Plaza Tempo, Escazu, San Jose, Costa Rica.”

That was far too much for my fatigued brain to absorb. I re-read the email.

“Please ACCEPT or DECLINE (if I don't hear from you I will assume it's a DECLINE) via this link no later than NOON pm EST, Saturday, June 1st, 2019.”

I was confused. If I read that correctly, the email referenced the very next day. Sam and I had discussed Costa Rica and baby sea turtles, but because so much time had passed since Nationals I had assumed Mystique was doubling down on international experience to represent the U.S. at both the International Powerlifting Federation and the North American Powerlifting Federation’s championships. I also knew there was an open portion of the competition — the Tournament of the Americas — that anyone could sign up for without being on or scoring points for the national team.

Because we believed there would be no place for me on the U.S. team this year, Sam had found a meet that looked like it would be lots of fun and would allow us to visit family that we don’t often see. Rampage, Mr. Fantastic, and Superboy were going to join us, and we had a really nice vacation planned around it, including a voyage to get Superboy soaked under Niagara Falls. (We figured he’d love that.)

I read the email again. Was this really an invitation to represent the U.S.? Or was this a reminder that anyone could sign up for the Tournament of the Americas? Was this a “you’re special” or a “you’re no one, but we need bodies”?

A small riot of emotions ran through me. Having been misled by the USAPL’s description of the IPF team selection criteria, in my under-caffeinated state I was certain that someone was just screwing with me. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Part of me also felt like it was a really dumb thing to get so attached to — powerlifting is a small sport, the NAPF championships are not the Olympics, and if I could make a national team then it clearly couldn’t be a big deal. I was just a Division III athlete in college, not very special — highly mediocre, in fact, when you look at the entirety of the college scene. If I could make the team, it clearly wasn’t special, and I really ought to be a little embarrassed about how badly I wanted it. I mean, grow up. You aren’t special.

Woah.

I refilled my coffee mug and prepared to have a chat with myself.

So, let me get this straight. You get what appears to be an invitation to represent the U.S. at a competition that includes North America and the Caribbean nations, and your first instinct is to belittle it and yourself? You were in federal civil service for almost 15 years in part because you believed in the mission of making the U.S. government as good as it could be for all of us, and you felt good going to work to do your part to make that happen. And now that you have a chance to represent your country in a different way, you want to minimize it and tear yourself down? What sort of flashback to being 20-year-old-Joah is this? You don’t do this to yourself anymore.

I got a little distance from these feelings and reflected on what was going on with my brain. I really struggled with self-esteem growing up (and apparently, that isn’t quite gone). As a kid and young adult I had the fundamental belief that I wasn’t valuable. That I was pretty worthless. That I had to work constantly to prove otherwise.

I guess I must have always had a little fight in me because I threw myself at things that I thought would demonstrate my value. I was a really good student. I got into an elite college. I worked hard and excelled at any sport I threw myself at. I kicked ass on the speech and debate team. In college, despite my brain trying to sabotage my performance, I fought my way to be an All-American. I went on to get a Ph.D. — letters that documented my value wherever my name appeared. I did a lot of these things to try to silence the negative part of my mind that was always telling me I wasn’t good enough.

That negative voice is a black hole. No matter the size of my victory, it would absorb it, sneer, and point to someone who had done it just a little better, faster, earlier — evidence that my success would never be enough. That voice will never allow you to feel successful because it moves the goal post every time you accomplish something.

I thought about how re-experiencing life as a competitive athlete — one where there are opportunities to do cool things like represent the U.S. in a sporting event — was raising these feelings from my younger self. It’s taken many years to combat that black hole. It’s not gone, but it no longer drives so many of my decisions because I’m able to examine it rather than just reacting to it and letting it drive my actions. The ability to gain distance from it allows me to make choices that prioritize other things like enjoying an experience that has nothing to do with external achievement just because it feels good. It doesn’t hurt to have someone in my life (Sam) who likes me because of our interactions and not because of my achievements.

I almost hesitate to write that, though, because another trap of this wicked voice is searching for a person to fill that emptiness. It doesn’t work, and it’s actually dangerous because you start judging your worth based on the other person’s responses and validations of you. If you don’t find someone like Sam, it can create a very damaging dynamic that can be difficult to get out of. I think this is the basis for a lot of the abuse women find themselves enduring at the hands of a partner.

I met Sam after I had dealt with many of these feelings. I probably wouldn’t have clicked with him sooner because I wasn’t ready for someone who likes spending time with me just because of our nerdy conversations, pleasure over shared experiences, and whatever that intangible set of confluences is that makes you fall in love with someone. Our successes are bonuses, not predicates for our mutual affection.

I’m not sorry that I’ve had a strong sense of drive and motivation even though it came from a really negative source for a long time. I am glad that now I can view myself without only grading what is (and is not) on my resume.

After a little self-talk, and perhaps a bit more fortifying caffeine, I sent a note to the coach. OK, I may have sent three notes to the very patient and responsive Greg Simmons, who confirmed (using different language each time) that I had in fact received an invitation to be on the national team.

At that point, I started to feel pretty good. It didn’t matter how big or small the NAPF meet would be. I had the opportunity to represent the U.S. as an athlete, and I would do so not just through my performance the day of the meet, but by taking opportunities to be supportive of my fellow competitors, by being gracious to the judges, and allowing others to see how incredibly happy — regardless of the outcome of the competition — that I am to be on that stage.