The measure of a win

This is my niece, Miranda. She’s played for Canada’s National and Olympic basketball teams for years.

My 10-year-old son and I recently returned from Edmonton, Alberta, where a qualifying tournament for the Tokyo Olympics was held.

We sit behind Miranda on the bench and scream our hearts out for her and the team on the court.

Every time she makes a shot, my son re-enacts it in the stands (for any spectators who may have missed it, lol). By the end of the game, most have moved away from me. I’ve never met anyone who can scream or whistle louder than me.

My son wants to be a professional basketball player, too. And now, year after year of watching his cousin, he begins to understand the fierceness, passion, and commitment required. That there is glory, but there is also pain. That there are wins, but there are also losses. That to be the best in the world comes at a cost. And all he asked me during our trip was, “Mom, can you please get me to a gym? I need to practice.”

By the end of the tournament, my throat is sore and my nails are gone, but whether we’d won or lost, it was worth it all. (We won.)

In so many ways, the trip reminded me of my clients. Of their vision of a win—an end to the bingeing. Of their pain of a loss—a binge along the way. Of their dream that one day they can discover who they might really be if they were free, their willingness to risk being real in the world.

That a loss always holds some measure of a win—of understanding what was missed. That a win always holds some measure of a loss—of who they believed they once were.