Trigger warning: discussion of verbal and emotional abuse

When I first started writing, for real, I was a Level 5 (now 4) gymnast at a regionally well-known gym. Since I was older, taller, and more developed, I was in the “B” group. I was lucky by being in that group. I wasn’t on the receiving end of as much verbal and emotional abuse. Yet, there was still plenty. I’d often come home crying because we were told we were failures, yelled at, etc. Complaining about an injury? You’d be told you were faking it. There was no being good enough, no perfection. Gymnastics is about getting that “perfect 10,” but perfection is difficult for the human body. Once you figured out how to “point your feet,” your legs would be bent or in the wrong place.

Outside my group, I witnessed the other gymnasts getting yelled at. I remember the anger on the gym owner’s face when his Level 10s weren’t trying hard enough on vault or something. It scared me, even as I was in my own group on the tumbletrak. The red face, the lines standing out on his body, the suddenness of movements. And I remember the female head coach screaming at the optionals girls. And the Level 5/6 girls who’d come into the locker room to hide, faces red and tear-stained, sobbing about what the other main female coach was yelling at them. It was a miserable place.

I’ve never figured out how much I want to talk about abuse in my novels. Lilly was largely outlined during that period of my life, and thus to remain true to my original plot, abuse would need to be a major theme. Her character development path is that of someone who’s essentially been silenced all her life by what she later recognizes as abuse. She throws all that off and separates herself from her family and becomes a prominent politician. Yet, I’ve always found it difficult to write the actual abusive moments. Because, on the other hand, Lilly was an escape for me. It was the world as I wished it was; the cathartic dreaming of a miserable teen.

In college, I found myself drawn to people who would emotionally and/or verbally abuse me. I wanted to please them, to show I was worthy, to make them like me. The people who praised me without me doing much, well, that praise felt empty. Gymnastics had taught me to be suspicious of anything that was easy. This included people. Now, the people who have encouraged and supported me unconditionally are people I now recognize as my greatest cheerleaders, and I honestly wouldn’t be where I am in life without them. But, back then, the only people who counted in my head were the harsh ones. My undergraduate advisor was one of those. I could never be good enough for her. Eventually, I realized that I didn’t have to try anymore. I didn’t need her approval. I don’t need the approval of everyone I come across. Frankly, I only need the approval of one person: myself.

Coaching gymnastics part-time has shown me how dangerous it is to bring together people with that shared upbringing. How flawed we all are. How hard it is to move past the pain and into a brighter, happier future for the next generation. But there is hope.