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CoSIDA 360 Extra

You Can't Pour From An Empty Cup
Coping with the loss of a friend, struggling with the isolation of a pandemic, and seeking the help I needed.

by Liz Wacienga – Kentucky Wesleyan College, Director of Athletic Communications/SWA

On the evening of Wednesday, Feb. 6, I finished preparing for our basketball doubleheader for the next evening like I always did. Our livestream equipment was accounted for, programs were printed, and it was a night like any other. What I didn’t know was that it was going to be a game day unlike any other.
 
On Thursday a text woke me up at 6:30 a.m. from a friend back home in New York.
 
“Hey. Did you see what happened?”
 
I was barely awake to think of what this could be about.
 
“No?”
 
Two minutes later he sends me a screenshot of our friend Ricky’s Facebook profile. People had started writing memorials commending his personality and sharing their favorite stories.
 
“That can’t be real.”
 
I didn’t believe it. How could our friend have died? This couldn’t have happened.
 
Before he responded back, my phone buzzed with a call from my parents. When you get a call from your parents at 6:38 a.m., you know something is wrong.
 
My voice was shaking. I was beyond confused.
 
“Liz? Where are you?”
 
“I’m at home. What’s going on?”
 
“We have something to tell you.”
 
“Yeah, somebody said Ricky died? Is that true?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Ok, well what happened? Was he in a car accident last night?”
 
“No… he killed himself.”
 
 
Honestly, I don’t remember how the conversation went from there. I started crying hysterically and my parents were trying to calm me down. But there wasn’t a single thing that they could say in that moment to make me feel better. Nothing.
 
I told my parents that I needed to call my brother Ryan. We hung up and I dialed his number. It was a 15-minute phone call, but the only words we said to each other were “I love you” in between our sobs. That was the first time my brother cried in front of me. Word was just getting around his friend group so he hung up to take a call from another person.
 
My mind immediately went to our games that night. Even though tip off was 10 hours away, I didn’t think I’d be able to pull it together in time.
 
I called our Assistant Director of Athletic Communications Kenny Badylak. Through tears I told him what had happened. He immediately told me “don’t come to the games tonight or Saturday.”
 
It dawned on me that I hadn’t finished game notes for that night. Kenny stopped me mid-sentence and said “I’ll take care of Joel (our broadcaster). You don’t worry about that.”
 
 
Through even more tears I asked him if he could let our Director of Athletics Rob Mallory know that I wouldn’t be in. At this point I had only told Kenny, but it was the hardest sentence I ever spoke. I didn’t have the strength to tell another person. He agreed to pass on the news and offered help in any way he could.
 
I didn’t realize this until I started writing this story, but that day could’ve gone a lot differently if Kenny hadn’t answered my phone call. Outside a few family members, this is the first death that I had experienced. I was 700 miles away from the friends and family that I desperately needed to be with. I didn’t have any support system in Kentucky, causing me to feel stranded on a desert island. Thank you, Kenny, for answering my phone call and being the support that I needed that morning.
 
Those next few hours are a complete blur to me. A handful of phone calls and texts, and a boatload of crying. Around 3 p.m., I couldn’t stand being in my apartment any longer. Ricky and I shared a love for sports, I know he wouldn’t have wanted me to miss our games. I texted Kenny “I need to get out of my apartment. I’m coming to the games tonight.” He responded with “Ok, there’s a spot for you on press row. You sit back and watch, I’ll handle everything.” For the first time that day, I took a breath.
 
I jumped in the shower in an attempt to hide my faces swelling from all of the crying. I realized I hadn’t eaten anything all day so I stopped by McAllister’s to grab a sandwich. I’ll never forget the look on that poor cashiers face. She could tell I was hurting, but she didn’t know what to say. I tried so hard to eat that silly sandwich, but I couldn’t do it. My appetite was completely gone. I wrapped the rest up to go, saving it for a postgame snack. I drove to The Sportscenter and managed to walk in right as the ball was tipped.
 
 
By now, our administrators had known what had happened but our table crew and student staff assumed it was a routine game day. With every “Hey Liz, how’s it going?” my lips trembled with “I’m good, how are you?” I managed to keep it together during the games, but the second that I walked back into my apartment I collapsed. I was both mentally and physically exhausted. Being at those games sucked out every ounce of energy I had in me.
 
I still can’t find the words to truly describe how I was feeling that day. Somehow I remember every single detail of it, but somehow it still seems so fuzzy. The one thought that kept crossing my mind — was I allowed to feel this pain and grieve the loss of someone I hadn’t spoken to in four years?
 
There’s one part of the story that I’ve left out. You probably gathered that Ricky was a very close friend of my brother. But what you don’t know, is that Ricky was also my ex-boyfriend. We had dated for almost a year and a half. He was in my brother's close circle so we frequently crossed paths after we split. We were cordial when we saw each other, a little small talk here and there, but mostly stayed our distance when we were at the same place. After I moved to Kentucky we rarely spoke. I saw him once or twice a year when I went home but it was nothing more than “Hey how ya doing?”
 
That next weekend we didn’t have any home events so I was able to sneak back to New York for a few days. Crossover season was on the horizon, and Ricky’s family hadn’t made any arrangements yet. I had to go home while I had the opportunity and start the grieving process.
 
My trip home was maddening. Everyone knew why I was in town, it wasn’t a secret. But no one talked about it. No one wanted to be the one to bring it up. I left New York feeling discouraged and lost. I had just spent the weekend with those closest to me, but I felt like I was going to take on this obstacle on my own.
 
 
As the days went on I was beginning to figure it out. I still had plenty of questions, but I was starting to see that there were brighter days ahead. I knew my grieving process had hardly begun, but I found comfort in knowing that everything was going to be ok.
 
Then 2020 hit.
 
Coronavirus.
Quarantine.
Social injustice.
Politics.

It was exasperating to watch our nation go up in flames. I understood the frustrations surrounding these issues, but how in the world did we let our country get to this point? Why didn’t we stop any of this earlier? How did we let our nation get this out of control?
 
Quarantine was hard, like really, really hard. I cleared off my kitchen table to create a designated work from home space, but I missed driving to campus every day. Zoom fatigue was a real thing. Whether it was a work meeting or checking in with family, I hated having my only human interaction be through a computer screen. The world was telling me to slow down, find a new hobby, enjoy the down time, but I was struggling to stay afloat.
 
My mental health plummeted.
I wasn’t ok.
I was trying to pour from an empty cup.
 
Perhaps the biggest annoyance was that I didn’t know what was wrong. I couldn’t pin point the problem so I wasn’t sure what needed fixing. Was I still navigating the loss of Ricky? Had the isolation of quarantine gotten to me? Had being 700 miles away from my family and friends finally beaten me down? Was it a combination of these things? To this day I still can’t answer that.
 
 
Fast forward to mid-August and we were back to working in our offices. The pandemic had postponed a majority of our fall competition to spring but our low-risk sports were competing. Students were back in classes and there was a small sense of normalcy on campus. I should have been happy but I wasn’t.
 
If you scroll through any of my social media accounts, you’ll see numerous posts about mental health. One of the first things that I tweeted after I received the news about Ricky’s death was the sentence at the very beginning of this with the phone number for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. It’s been pinned to the top of my Twitter profile ever since. I am always the one to encourage my peers to have tough conversations like this one. I frequently post about depression and anxiety, small tips to cope with it, and how to help friends that you notice are struggling. To me, those posts were me screaming at the top of my lungs for help, but not a soul heard me.
 
On the night of Aug. 23 I knew I couldn’t live like this any longer. I needed to get help. One of our Coaches on staff has been dating a social worker in town since I arrived in Owensboro. I texted him at 3 a.m. and asked for her number. After reaching out to her, she sent me the names and contact information of a few local therapists.
 
It took me a few days to build up the courage to reach out to any of them. Even though I preach on the importance of mental health, I was terrified to admit that I needed help.
 
One of my biggest fears was how my colleagues would react. I couldn’t just disappear from the office for a few hours unexplained. As an administrator and a mentor to our student athletes, I couldn’t show any sign of weakness. I needed to be a leader in the department as we entered a season that none of us ever predicted.
 
 
On Sept. 1, I went to therapy for the first time. It was certainly uncomfortable at first. How could I open up to this stranger and tell her my entire life story just minutes after meeting her? Walking out of her office after the first time, I didn’t want to step foot in it ever again. I absolutely hated it and felt like it was adding more stress to my plate. But in the back of my mind, I knew I needed to keep going. Part of me knew that therapy could be beneficial, I just needed to give it a chance.
 
Nearly six months and a handful of appointments later, I’m glad I gave it another shot.
 
I’m not back to myself 100% yet but I’m making positive strides. I know that this battle with my mental health is a process and I’m not going to see dramatic changes overnight. After all, Rome wasn’t built in a day.
 
I’ll admit, there are still times when I get discouraged with it. The world of college athletics and sports information is quite unique. My therapist, friends and family don’t always understand the intricacies of the way our world works. Not to mention they don’t see the displeasure of having an unbalanced box score sent to you.

That’s when I rely on my CoSIDA peers. We always have each other’s backs. We are always there to pick each other up, always there to put a smile on each other’s faces, always there to send a good quality meme. One thing from this profession that I’ll never take for granted is the people that I’ve crossed paths with.
 
 
I know I said earlier that Zoom fatigue is real, but my all-time favorite Zoom occurs every single Sunday night. For about three hours every Sunday, I Zoom with my core group of SID friends. Scratch that, my SID family. We check in on each other, share our craziest convention stories, and help each other forget about the world’s problems for a little while. It is something that I look forward to every Sunday and has no doubt provided me a bright spot since we started back in April.
 
This spring is going to be the U word (I promise myself I wouldn’t use it). I know it’s cliché but we need to take care of ourselves now more than ever. Below are five simple things that I have implemented in my life recently and found to be helpful. I encourage you to try them as well.
 
Leave Your Laptop in the Office
For those that are back on campus, break the habit of taking your laptop home with you every night. If you don’t have road games that night, leave it. I found myself frequently doing small tasks after dinner while watching tv. Whether it’d be uploading a photo gallery or updating a roster, I was always doing little jobs that I didn’t finish earlier that day. Work can wait. I promise you that the world will not come crashing down if you wait to update the roster until morning.
 
Lunchtime Stroll Around Campus
I’ll admit, quarantine and the CoSIDA Fitness Challenge turned me into a walker (shout out to Better At Running Up a Tab!). The Fitness Challenge and my teammates had a tremendous impact on me. If it wasn’t for their encouragement, I can confidently say that I would have never left my apartment during quarantine. Thank you BARUAT for the motivation to get outside every day this summer. As winter came around, it was getting darker earlier in the day, and a little too chilly for my liking. The best solution for me was to start taking a walk around campus during the lunch hour. It serves as a nice midday break plus gives me the opportunity to see some of our students on their way to class or practice. A win-win situation all the way around.
 
Go Off the Grid
One night every week, I “unplug” for the night. Of course, it’s usually the night my parents try to FaceTime me. I tell myself no electronics for the evening. I turn my phone off and put it out of sight. I refrain from turning on the TV, my laptop or iPad. A majority of the time I curl up on the couch with a good book. Sometimes I’ll clean my apartment or work on a puzzle, anything to give my brain a little bit of a break.
 
One Good Thing Everyday
I end my day by reflecting on one good thing that happened that day. It could be something as simple as having my favorite meal for dinner or not having the livestream go down during a game. In the past it’s just been a thought before bed, but this year I bought a 2021 planner. Rather than to-do lists and schedules, it is filled with positive things. I’m sure that in a few months it will be nice to be able to look back at some of those and smile.
 
Send a Handwritten Note
Society has lost the art of sending handwritten notes. I try to send them as often as possible, but sometimes the convenience of e-mails or texting is too hard to ignore. Often I’ll send a thank you card to someone on campus to show my appreciation for their work. Sometimes I’ll send a note of encouragement to a fellow SID. It may take me an extra five minutes, but there’s a tad more satisfaction in sending something handwritten rather than electronic. Plus, you never know how big of a smile you’ll be putting on the recipient’s face.
 
 
Mental health is an enormous elephant in the room. Everyone is battling it in their own way, but nobody wants to talk about it. I hope that by writing this and sharing my story, we can start to have a conversation and break down walls.
 
If you ever find yourself feeling alone, or need someone to just yell at for a minute, please reach out to me. My DMs are always open on social media (@lizwac07), or you can drop me an email at lwacienga@kwc.edu.
 
If you were to break your leg tomorrow, you would go see a Doctor, right? So why won’t you do the same thing if your brain is hurting?
 
You are important.
You matter.
You can’t pour from an empty cup.