***Before reading this I want everyone to know that this is my story and my experience. I am not speaking for anyone else. I also want to make it clear that this has nothing to do with my college gymnastics experience. Being on the gymnastics team at Texas Woman's University was an amazing opportunity filled with only amazing individuals. What is written below in no way reflects any of my college coaches or teammates.
“She was never quite ready. But she was brave. And the universe listens to brave.”
Today I need the universe, I need you to listen. I will never be ready to tell the truth that I need you to hear, but today I am brave enough. We are all here to tell a story. In this life we get built up tall enough to peer through the clouds and we also get torn into pieces small enough to go unnoticed when they get lost. We fall down and get up about a million times. We get hurt repeatedly by past grievances, but we also are strengthened by them just the same. I hope these words appearing on the screen strengthen you enough to one day tell yours.
You’ve all heard me talk about gymnastics from 1000 different lenses. You’ve probably seen me love it and you’ve probably seen me hate it, but today I’m writing from a new lens, a new perspective. Today, I am writing about it from a lens that somehow makes things so much clearer, but at times even more foggy. I am writing from a lens of a girl whose passion was manipulated for the benefit of a person. The lens of someone who was a victim of power imbalance. This particular perspective is beginning to redefine the lines of my passion for the sport. It is working through untangling a passion I had for gymnastics and the struggles I faced with a manipulative individual.
When I was younger and even into my early adulthood I experienced now what I believe is referred to as a power imbalance. When I was 13 I was in an environment that revolved around athletes trying to receive acknowledgment. We were given attention that was quickly withdrawn for hours or sometimes even days at a time. This then caused many of us to make anxious attempts at being good enough gymnasts or even sometimes bad enough of a gymnast to receive some sort of acknowledgement. I remember the first time I was hurt and had to have surgery in eighth grade. I was so angry because it was as if I didn’t even exist. Anyone that was hurt was pushed to the side which made me want nothing more than to be noticed. I felt like I was never going to amount to anything since in my mind, my worth as a gymnast and as a person was decided by an individual. I will never forget when I first came back in after surgery and was told “you were going to be good too.” It was as if I was a hopeless case. This was not the last time an injury would make me feel this way.
It was obvious that there was always one favorite and it was a position that everyone desperately would do anything to be in. This included: being okay with inappropriate comments and uncomfortable situations that would be tolerated to try and receive the attention necessary to feel important. All of these things were considered normal and even if at times uncomfortable were laughed off because a happy coach meant our gymnastics was good, and if our gymnastics was good we were allowed to be happy.
By the time I turned 15/16 the inappropriate comments worsened by the day. I no longer felt comfortable with my body and was always on edge. I always felt embarrassed and responsible for any comment made. It was always my fault and even writing this today I feel hints of shame creeping back into my chest.
And the really messed up thing? Well it’s all messed up, but with all the uncomfortableness aside I trusted someone who took advantage of me in a position of authority. I knew fully in my head, my heart, my gut that whatever this was wasn’t right. But I was so afraid of losing that relationship, I was so afraid of losing gymnastics and to be honest I couldn’t tell you what was what at that point. I would do anything asked of me and the funny thing about that is I’m not even that kind of person. In fact I sometimes do the opposite of what most people tell me just to prove a point. I had lost so much control over my life and that... that makes me want to scream, it makes me want to cry, and a lot of days it makes me want to punch someone in the face.
The other day I was having an MRI for the millionth time and I kept asking myself how did I end up there. No, I don’t mean in that specific MRI machine, but how did I end up a retired gymnast that struggled to hold herself physically together for almost her entire career. I always remember thinking that when I got to college there would be an entire team of girls with injuries like mine who had as many surgeries as I did. To my surprise there was maybe a handful. There were many times I was not in the physical condition to really do anymore but of course I would never say anything about injuries until I had to because I was afraid. I was afraid of the diminishing comments that would make me feel like my future in gymnastics was always over. There were also times in which I was praised for being injured and going on anyways which made me do it more often. It was usual to get attention for hurting so I figured that all the “good gymnasts” hurt that bad. Well, I wanted to be a good gymnast too.
Reliving a couple of these stories today they seem absolutely ridiculous. Like what? I can’t help but wonder if the reason I ruptured my Achilles at 16 , had 5 surgeries, and am sitting in an MRI machine facing four more was because of how I was trained to treat my body. I’m not saying any of this for you to feel bad for me, by any means please don’t. I learned so much along the way, but the control someone had over me, over my passion can happen to anyone. It doesn’t have too if we are aware.
It’s hard not to blame myself. I was blind to it until a year ago when an incident so far over the line made me take a step back. It wasn’t until this point that I realized I was conditioned to keep coming back. I was conditioned to consult him on everything. I mean really it makes me feel incredibly stupid and the idea of just keeping all of this to myself sounded pretty good. The problem is, I’ve heard other’s stories now. I’ve heard their similar and different experiences and they enraged me more than my own. This is still going on. This is still happening and has happened in the past. There are days that truly I want nothing more than to just move on and pretend nothing happened but I can’t. No one deserves to feel like this, no one deserves to have to heal from something like this. So please hear this, if you have been effected it is not your fault and you are not crazy. Your reality although it might be foggy now, isn’t in your head. And if you are someone still being effected please, when you are ready get yourself out. Share your own story if you feel so inclined, with me, with a friend, maybe just write it down. Do what you need to do to heal. Just know your truth is valued by me and so many others. You are not alone.
I just want this to be known. There isn’t always a platform that is fitting for this type of trauma. I shouldn’t have to classify my experience into a category that makes me question how important my claim is. I shouldn’t have to feel like I need specific proof to make my experience convenient enough. My truth may be inconvenient, but it is true. This is my reality that I worked so hard to finally see and I don’t believe that just because it may be inconvenient it should be disregarded. I believe the same for yours. So today I stand up for the people that don’t feel ready, but are still brave. I stand up for the inconvenient truth. It’s time for the universe, for you, to listen.