Filename: 2025-06-13-football-training-and-the-unspoken.md

layout: post title: “Football Training and the Unspoken” date: 2025-06-13 tags: [belonging, authenticity] emotions: [loneliness, gratitude] excerpt: “I don’t chase surface-level chat that drains me. Yet when rare connections fade quietly, it leaves an ache—proof that authenticity matters, even in small-town spaces.” —

There’s a strange atmosphere at my son’s football training. I can’t quite name it—maybe it’s the small-town closeness, the group dynamics, or just the way energy moves between people—but I always come away feeling a little off-centre.

There are two women who coach the team. One of them, I’ve had a few good conversations with in the past, but lately she seems to keep a distance. Maybe because she’s married and doesn’t want anything to seem inappropriate, or maybe she’s just more guarded now. Either way, it feels like something shifted.

The other coach is quieter—gruff, even—but I can tell there’s a softness underneath. She helped my son with a nosebleed once. I wasn’t sure if I should go onto the pitch to help, and maybe she didn’t like that. But yesterday, as we passed each other, I simply said, “Thank you.” She didn’t respond with words, but I felt she understood it. Underneath the avoiding eyes and awkwardness, I think she received the sentiment: I saw her effort, and I appreciated it.

They don’t get paid. They show up every week. They’re kind to my son. That matters.

It’s a weird space for me to inhabit. I’m probably not like most of the other parents there. I don’t perform “banter” well. I don’t enjoy surface-level chat for the sake of it. I’m happy to sit quietly on my own. I say hello. I offer warmth. But I don’t chase connection that drains me.

And maybe that gets interpreted as arrogance. Maybe there’s a grain of truth in that—I’ve spent years learning to protect my energy. I’ve tried, genuinely, to connect with some of the people there, and each time I’ve walked away feeling depleted. It just reminds me of how few people I actually feel energized by.

That’s what makes it hard when a connection I value seems to quietly fade. It hasn’t been officially named or confirmed, but there’s a distance now. One I can feel. And when those rare, meaningful connections grow quiet, it leaves a particular ache. Not loud—but present.

Still, I trust that if I stay true to this path, I’ll be surprised—those rare connections do exist. They’re just not found everywhere.

Like the woman I met during my college interview. We connected instantly. She was warm, grounded, present. I don’t know if it was intentional—whether my tutors thought we’d be a good match—but I felt it. And it reminded me: the kind of connection I value isn’t impossible. It’s just rare.

Sometimes, I wonder if I read too much into things. But honestly, I think my assessments of these social dynamics are usually pretty accurate. I’m not projecting. I’m just aware.

And that awareness isn’t a burden—it’s a compass.

So I’ll keep showing up. Quietly. Authentically. Saying thank you when it matters. Trusting that, one day, someone will meet me in the same place I stand.