You're Doing What???
Yes, that’s right I am restarting the blog about my thoughts, insights and experiences. I was 59 when I made my last post. I am now 63 years old, and recuperating from my 5th major surgery in the last 18 months. It is past time for me to share the rest of my story-those details that I have clutched in my heart for over 50 years. I feared letting them go would be hurtful, but that is just not true. Holding onto trauma never heals anyone. My hope is to inspire and create positive change. All of us have experienced trying or difficult times. It is what we do with those times that makes the difference. I am ready to make a difference. My story is tragic and a tragedy that is not easy to talk about. Some in my family prefer I hang onto my painful silence.
In early 2019, '“You’re doing what???” were the exact words my mother scoffed when I told her about my plans to start In Her Name Foundation in my late sister Carla’s honor. She was clearly on the side of me staying mute. Because, if I told my side she would be less important and her story might have less value. And, until that day her version was really the only spoken version. She filled her mind and twisted facts to meet her needs. My mother gripped her pain and wore like a badge of honor as though no one else had ever suffered.
At times, I wanted to scream, “Carla would not want any of this!” Carla would want me to share my story. I started talking through the foundation and podcast. My heart began to heal in ways beyond anything ever imagined. Here are the facts from my version that led me to where I am today:
June 30th, 1976, my older sister Carla went for an evening bike ride and never returned home.
82 days later we learned she had lost her life to the same person that took 5 lives over a 2 year period.
My heartbroken family completely fell apart.
My parent’s rocky marriage careened through an ugly divorcé.
My older brother moved away to college and began distancing himself.
I was left home trying to decide which parent to choose.
My mother feigned suicide-I had no choice.
My grandfather hoarded every newspaper article and picture available showing them to anyone who walked through the door until his death in 1989.
August 1976 I tumbled onto Hays High School tennis team starting at #18 of 24 players.
September 22, 1976, my coach, Donna Cooper, put her arms around me, picked me up, put me on my feet, and taught me to believe in myself.
1978 I was state runner-up 5A girls singles,
1979 I was state champion 5A girls singles and the first girl at Hays High School to win a state tennis singles championship.
March 1980 I accepted Division 1 collegiate tennis scholarship at Wichita State University.
I was the first female athlete at Hays High School to earn a D1 scholarship in any sport.
Donna Cooper’s coaching, teaching and mentoring left a lifetime indelible impression on my heart and soul.
Tennis provided meaning and purpose for me. It was an outlet all my own that propelled me through family drama and craziness. My mom was always at the center discounting my thoughts and feelings about most everything. She pitted me against my father placing limits on my time with him. She was a master at spinning stories and making me feel guilty. My grandfather’s renditions were ugly and no one stopped him. But, my mother’s versions were worse with added dramatics. I would get the same awful facts, but her voice would change and deepen. Her face would turn red and eyes widen until she fell into a sobbing heap. Sometimes those outbursts would finish up with a veiled suicidal threat. The threats continued though my adult life until her disposition into a nursing home in 2020. She has dementia.
I learned to be silent for fear of making things worse. And when I did speak out I was shushed to the side with, “ A few hard knocks in life will make you stronger.” My dad for the most part stayed in the background not talking about it much and when he did you could tell he was heartbroken to the core. He lost himself in alcohol. My brother kept his distance, moved to the Pacific northwest and spent the majority of his career out of the country. He retired and permanently moved to Thailand.
I found a different path. Thankfully!!! I sought to free and heal my heart and talk about Carla’s life and death in a better light. For decades I wanted to memorialize her life into something meaningful. I started In Her Name Foundation in 2019 and “Do I Need My Racket?” podcast followed in 2022. Here are some of our accomplishments:
Generated $45,000 in cash and in kind donations.
Established Carla J. Baker Legacy Scholarship to support the Hays High School girls tennis program.
Started “Do I Need My Racket?” podcast featuring young girls and women sharing stories about how sports have impacted their lives. 2,500 listeners-reached 38 state 22 countries.
Provided grants for camp fees, equipment, appropriate athletic attire.
Donated 250 basketballs, 60 soccer balls, 42 tennis rackets and 300 foundation t-shirts to youth in the greater Lansing, Michigan area.
Sponsored free swim lessons for title 1 schools.
March 2025 we dropped podcast episode #25- A Friend Forever- featuring my high school tennis coach Donna Cooper.
This list will continue to grow. The more I speak out the more my heart and soul heal. I can lead by example and help others tell their stories. There are many that want to listen, learn, and be inspired. Know that It is never to late to share. Take it as a challenge and set your heart free.
“You’re doing what?” no longer rings in my head. Instead, I hear my sister Carla’s voice “Bout damn time you started talking!”
I was left at home having to decide which parent to choose. It was immense pressure to put on a 14 year even without the trappings of an absolute heinous crime and tragedy of lives lost. In the end, my mother feigned suicide. I had no choice and lived with her. My mother and grandfather talked about what happened a lot and not in a good way. My grandfather dragged out ghastly newspaper articles he’d saved from beginning to end of the entire saga sharing them with anyone that walked through the door. And no one stopped him it was awful. My mother also talked about it a lot, but only in reference to whole tragedy and how it made her feel. Her voice would sharpen and deepen. Her eyes would widen, and her face would turn red right before she ended up in a sobbing heap. If I wanted talk about it, I was shushed to the side with “A few hard knocks with make you stronger.” I learned the best way to escape was to clam up and clamp down on anything I was thinking or feeling for fear I would make the situation worse. My thoughts and feelings were not important, and my story did not matter. I had no voice and seldom spoke out about anything. What I did do was become a high school overachiever. If I could be perfect then there would be nothing to be sad about. Definitely magical thinking on my part.
As I grew into my adult years, I became a pressure cooker letting off steam in bits and pieces until I could no longer contain it. I reached my limit and sought help which was one of the best things I could have done for myself, my kids and spouse. I realized we don’t have to shoulder hard things alone. And, I knew Carla would want to be remembered in a way that inspired and created and not in a way that divided and stoked fear. +