Perhaps I am one of the few who has not been watching the Paris 2024 Olympics, but that notwithstanding, I could not help but hear the news. Simone Biles crowned the “greatest gymnast of all time.” Such excitement and national pride. I respect and admire Biles for her history-making courage in bringing concerns about athlete mental health to the Olympic podium. No small feat in a world that worships strength, indomitability, and single-mindedness. But watchdog of the neglected, a voice reared up in me. What???! Greatest of all time? No!!
I backflipped to 1972. That would make me 17, fighting my way back from a near-fatal run of what I now think of as suicidal anorexia. For some reason, at the time of the Games, I had had all my wisdom teeth pulled at once. Chipmunk-cheeked, and decidedly weakened, I hunkered down in the basement, forgotten and alone, with the full-time company of the 1972 Munich Olympics. Enter the then-new gymnastics sensation Olga Korbut, who literally turned the sport on its head. She was my same age, 17, a tiny little firecracker of a body. 4 ft 11 in (150 cm) she weighed in at 84 lb; 38 kg (6 st). Not so very different than me, although I was taller, and she hopefully arrived at her weight in a much healthier way. She wore two little pigtails, making her look a little girlish and adorable.
Although Korbut hailed originally from Belarus and competed for the then-Soviet Union, she became everyone’s darling and shooting to world stardom. My little sister, who occasionally wandered downstairs to watch and hang out with me, and I were transfixed, and in love with Little Olga. In fact, somehow, I don’t remember how, she nicknamed me “Little Olga,” a name that stuck for years, although my sister was the only person who actually called me that.
Korbut decidedly transformed the sport and was indeed the greatest of all time. And what happens when a child or some brand of superstar, is somehow eclipsed, replaced, lapses into invisibility, forgotten history, nothing? Like an older sibling over-shadowed by the new baby? She now quietly resides in Scottsdale, Arizona, USA, mentoring and coaching gymnasts. Being my age would make her 69. She did not cease to exist, but having felt that way so much of my life, I feel protective of her legacy, her achievements, her courage, and her mettle. I wonder what she thinks of Simone Biles, and the hyperbolic words about her. I remember with gratitude how Little Olga, in flight, kept me company and somehow comforted me at a hugely difficult time.
Gender
Gender is a delicate issue nowadays and I am grateful to clients and friends who have gently corrected and educated me when I have confused gender with sex; or made thoughtless binary assumptions. I was horrified to hear an interview with a former Olympian from 1968, recounting her experience of “gender testing” in the Olympics. In those days apparently, in order to compete, female athletes had to be “tested” to verify that they were in fact, female. Herded into large halls, they had to remove their pants and prove that they had a vagina. When one incensed female discus thrower asked why, IOC officials explained it was because many of the female athletes “didn’t look like women.” The experience was humiliating and insulting for the women, who informally referred to it as the “nude parade,” or the “strip and poke.” We would now consider it not only gender discrimination but sexual abuse. The practice persisted until 1999! And now with the increasing transgender awareness, renewed and different prejudices and fears are again emerging relating to the interplay between hormones and strength, and concerns about fair sporting competition. It erupted again this very week, when Algerian boxer, Imane Khelif after taking the gold medal was accused of “not being a woman…” Clearly, this saga is not over… Meanwhile, the world of sports has become steadily more economic and political. Whatever happened to old-fashioned fairs, even fun sporting competitions? And do we begin to see a whole “new” category of sexual trauma?
Loss
This past March I closed my Oakland office, after inhabiting my block in that Rockridge neighborhood for nearly 40 years. Much trauma and neglect walked in and out of those rooms, and much sweat and tears, (thankfully no blood!) flowed there. In 2011, when my first book, Coming Home to Passion, appeared, I was still pretty introverted. But I did do one public reading and book-signing event at the beloved independent bookstore up the street, then called “Diesel Books.” It was a highly revered local treasure already in the days when independent booksellers were becoming endangered. Not only did the good folks at Diesel sponsor my event, but they carried and sold my book for the decade that followed.
In 2017, as the species became closer to extinction, Diesel almost had to close, only rescued at the last minute by generous donors and an employee named Brad Johnson, who re-incarnated it to become East Bay Booksellers where it continued as a neighborhood gem, until last month. Then our cherished bookstore burned to the ground. Although no humans were hurt, it is almost as heartbreaking, and painful to imagine all the books that went up in smoke. The store is again struggling, raising funds to recover and hopefully rebuild. Sad condolences eternal gratitude, and hope for a future: for a place that will always be precious to me.
Trees
As ever, let us close with something positive. While things are winding down in Paris, I have had the good fortune that France came to me. I had a visit from rock stars Florence and Marc, founders and producers of Quantum Way, a wonderful and enlightened organization that works to take Trauma and Neglect, theory and practice to the French speaking world, which is in fact quite sizeable, and extends far beyond the First World countries I am more familiar with. I first met them when I had the privilege of participating in their global Trauma, Attachment and Resilience Summit this past April. When I logged on for my interview at 4:00AM San Francisco Time, I was amazed to learn that there were over 40,000 people in attendance from around the world, in this all free, online event. I was so moved and thrilled to be part of a world-wide movement for healing. I knew for sure I loved Florence, when she introduced Bessel in their interview, as “The Beatles and the Stones of the trauma and neglect world.” Right on all three counts!
Although my Spanish is pretty darn good, I only know a couple of words in French, mostly the ones I learn from cheese-making recipes. I am excited, inspired, and grateful to think of my work going out into new places in that lovely language. Meanwhile, I have been watching the recordings from that conference, mostly when I am stirring the cheese vat. This time, I was reviewing Florence’s conversation with Daniel Siegel, a long-time favorite since his groundbreaking book, The Developing Mind, first appeared in 1999. It is still on my shortlist, as it made the neuroscience of attachment digestible to me even when I was very newly exposed to it.
In the interview, Dr, Siegel, in talking about attachment and connection, makes reference to the Pando Aspen tree found in Utah, USA. Utah is one of my favorite places on earth. He describes seeing a massive forest of 48,000 of beautiful trees, only to discover that all are connected and nourished by a single root ball. In effect, they are all one tree! What a marvelous metaphor, and what a spectacular vision of unity and hope. Precisely what, I think, the Olympics were originally designed to be.
My best friend is a Francophile and she loves Paris. I have not been there yet, although it is also on my shortlist. I can forgive Simone Biles for taking the new GOAT (Greatest of All Time) title. After all, history does march on… as long as we don’t forget Little Olga. And Biles is in fact another bold and talented African American athlete to break into the top echelons of a traditionally white girl’s sport. I do hope Paris didn’t get too trashed! One of the only words I know in French, I have learned from overhearing my husband avidly watching the Tour de France. “Allez, Allez,” cheers the spirited crowd, “Go! “Go!”. That is what I say to the Pando, and to Quantum Way! And to all of us in the trenches of trauma and neglect. Allez!
Today’s song:
