R.B.

When I was 4 years old, I started artistic gymnastics. Nothing made me happier than stepping into that sweat and chalk filled gym with some of my best friends. For ten years I relentlessly dedicated myself to this demanding sport. I spent 25 hours a week training to be the best. It was my entire life; until one day, it wasn’t. My coaches saw a lot of potential in me and always pushed me to be better. In turn, I pushed myself to be the best I could be. I quickly began competing. I attended private lessons with my coaches to help me improve my skills. My coaches would push me physically and emotionally to be perfect. During practices the coaches gave us constant correction. After many years it began to take a toll on me. I think there is a very fine line in gymnastics between male coaches helping girls improve their skills and abusive behavior. My coaches played jump rope with that line every day. Were they touching my body to reinforce good technique? Or because that’s what they wanted to do? Day after day and week after week I went into that gym with a smile on my face and would leave feeling worthless. Still I continued to go to practice and continued to face my coach who would tell me his touching was to help me improve. I believed him. I stopped feeling happy at the gym and began leaving filled with resentment. I felt empty and did not want to continue. Yet, I kept going back in hopes one day it would get better and the touching would stop, but it never did. While this physical harm was traumatic, I eventually realized the emotional abuse I faced was substantially worse. As all of this progressed, my gymnastic ability began to decline. I started leaving the gym crying every day because my anxiety was preventing me from performing skills that once came easy. My coaches would yell at me and instruct me not to cry. The people who I trusted the most would yell at me and slowly began to turn their backs on me. I was forced to learn how to keep everything bottled in and hide behind a wall. The longer I continued doing gymnastics the more I desired perfection, yet it was always out of reach. My skills were declining, and my coaches began giving up on me. I felt like I was letting everyone down and I was hopeless. After ten years of gymnastics I quit. It was the hardest decision of my life but the weight of the physical and emotional toll I experienced every single day was finally unbearable. 

After gymnastics, I still continued to strive for perfection. I learned the hard way that perfection doesn’t exist in life. It’s okay to make mistakes and its okay to fall and it’s okay to be imperfect. I am still figuring out how to best manage my stress and anxiety in uncomfortable situations. For a long time, I bottled everything inside like my coaches had forced me to do. I kept trying to be perfect no matter the circumstance. I didn’t know how to convey my emotions without feeling that I am burdening others. I am only now starting to realize that my feelings are valid and that it is okay to be upset, and it is okay to show others how I am feeling. It has taken me a long time to trust people again and allow myself to open up to others. It is okay to not hide behind a wall. 

The hardest part of overcoming this experience has been learning how to live my life without gymnastics. For such a long time it had been a wonderful part of my life and it will continue to be a part of me. It was difficult to figure out who I was and reestablish my identity once the only thing that had made me, me was gone. I did not know who I was outside of the gym. Even eight years after, I am still learning who I am without gymnastics. It has been extremely difficult to overcome the loss I felt from leaving the sport that used to be my entire life. It is still an ongoing struggle. I started trying different activities to fill the void gymnastics left in my life. I did soccer, dance and a year later joined my high school cheer team in hopes I could keep the gymnast inside me alive. Joining the cheer team slowly replaced the loss I felt. While being part of a team again and staying busy again took up nearly the same time as my gymnastic practices, there was still a part of me that could not let go and move forward. I realized I needed more help to break down the emotional wall I put up as a result of my gymnastic coaches’ verbal abuse. I went to therapy to work through and reflect on my gymnastics experience. It was and still is one of the hardest topics for me to talk about but having someone openly listening and guiding me through my past was extremely beneficial. With the support of my family and close friends I slowly learned how to trust people and let people into my life. It took me a while to learn how to handle the physical and emotional trauma I experienced during those years. To be honest, I am still learning how to handle it and working towards allowing myself to trust others every day. Even with some painful memories, I will never find something to fully replace the love and passion I had for gymnastics. After my high school team, I went on to cheer with the Cal Poly Cheer/Stunt team. This team is everything to me. It is the closest thing I have found to replace my passion for gymnastics. This team has been there for me in the good times and bad and I would not have made the progress I have had without them by my side. 

I feel that this was not something I could share on social media because it was not something a lot of people talked about. I was in gymnastics from ages 4-14 and most teens to do not discuss physical or emotional trauma. Everyone is just trying to get through middle school with minimal damage. There was no way I could have told my peers about what I was experiencing outside of the school walls. I think if mental health and emotional health was less stigmatized, I would have an easier time sharing what had happened to me. People may be able to comprehend the physical trauma I experienced but explaining to them the emotional toll gymnastics took on me; no one that age could understand. I barely understood it. In general, there is huge pressure for everyone to put on a perfect persona all the time. Social media promotes this persona the most. It is very unusual to see someone post a picture of them not looking content. This makes it difficult and “out of character” to express any feelings beyond that. As a society, we need to do a better job of breaking down this barrier and breaking the stigma of mental health and how it is represented on social media.

If I were to share my experience on social media, I think it would be very difficult for me. It has taken me a long time to come to terms with what has happened and how to overcome it. If I were to create a post, I think it would be a picture of me doing gymnastics with a caption expressing the emotional and physical toll gymnastics took on me. I think this would affect the way many people view me because most people are unaware of my past. I think the overall impact on myself and others would be very positive and supportive. While it may be a difficult topic to discuss, it is important for people to know what exists behind your social media profile.  

It is okay to be vulnerable and to not be perfect. It is okay to feel emotions and place trust in others. It is okay to not be okay. It took me a long time to process the events that have happened. There is no timeline to healing and there is no timeline to try and move forward. All we can do is wake up the next day and handle it. Some days are better than others, but the sun will always shine again, and there will be another day to make the most of it. A lot of people don’t understand how detrimental emotional abuse can be to one’s mental health and the way they perceive the world. Recovery is a process, but I would not be the person I am today without these events. I have been dealing with this for a while and this is the first time in years I have felt that I have made significant progress. For a long time, I went through this struggle and faced these emotions by myself. Even though everyone kept telling me I wasn’t alone, I still felt isolated. Now for the first time, I know I am not alone, and neither are you.