Each week, Abu would ask me how I was doing and would show me something new in the gym. I started taking notes and I could tell I was getting stronger. Instead of sitting in my car in the parking lot all day at my son's clinic, I was dropping Broden off and then running to the gym to see what I could accomplish there.
After a few weeks, my personal training sessions with Abu ended. He had taught me quite a bit, and I felt he had slowly become my friend. Abu would still say hello to me and check in to make sure I was keeping up with what he had taught me. One morning, I was having a terrible day. Juggling everything in my life was becoming very difficult, and that morning I felt my plate was too heavy to carry. I walked into Abu’s office, but he was not there, so I sat in a chair and cried. About 15 minutes later, Abu walked in and sat down in front of me, “What’s wrong?” I told him that my life was too hard. After laying my head on his desk with snot dripping from my nose, Abu said, “I’ll be right back.”
"Abu taught me how to find ways to work through my frustration. I still like to journal, but throwing on a pair of tennis shoes to work out is in my tool kit, as well."
As I laid there motionless, leaning on his desk, I heard this stern voice from the office door, “Shelly, stand up.” I looked over and Abu was standing there with boxing gloves. I wiped off my face and said, “Abu, I don’t do that stuff. I don’t know how to box.” He said again sternly, “Stand up.” I slowly stood up and let him put the gloves on me. I begrudgingly followed him out into the gym area where I was surrounded by men lifting heavy weights, “Ok Shelly, I’m going to hold this punching bag. I want you to beat the crap out of it.” I started to go through the motions of punching the bag. In the beginning, I don’t think I was punching the bag, I was mostly nudging the bag to the point where it wasn’t even moving. Abu yelled, “C’mon! That’s all you got? Aren’t you pissed? Your life is not what you wanted! Don’t you feel robbed? Aren’t you pissed at autism?” I started to hit the bag harder and harder and harder. Abu, held the bag as tight as he could, “That’s it. Beat this bag! Beat the crap out of it!’ I started to cry and I was soon yelling at the bag, “I hate you!” After a while, I didn’t notice anyone around me. I only focused on the bag in front of me and Abu’s angry face yelling at me. And just like that, Abu said, “Ok. That’s enough. Take a deep breath.” I stopped and looked around. There were about four men standing there staring at me. As we walked away, I asked Abu, “Why are they looking at me?” He smirked, “You were beating the crap out of this bag.”
In military fashion, I moved about six months later, but in Kansas I made a choice. Instead of hanging out in a coffee shop every day and sleeping in my car, I met Abu. He taught me how to find ways to work through my frustration. I still like to journal, but throwing on a pair of tennis shoes to work out is in my tool kit, as well. I have Abu to thank for that. He was there at a time when I needed someone to empower me. He triggered something in me that over the years has been valuable. When I'm down, I very rarely stay down for too long. I eventually get up and mentally put on those boxing gloves. •
OUR JOURNEY IN CAMO
Shelly Huhtanen is an Army wife stationed at Fort Jackson, SC. She enjoys sharing her experiences of her day-to-day life caring for her son with autism. Shelly authored Giving a Voice to the Silent Many that encompasses many stories of raising a child with autism in the military. She also teaches Public Communication at the University of South Carolina and has contributed to EP Magazine for over 10 years.
