My DD is still working through her stint at a terrible gym.. and I thought I would share how she felt/feels in her own words, which I find more powerful than anything I could ever say on the subject. My mom input is this: when you know something is wrong in your gut, take action. Always trust your kid, right away. Better to err on the side of caution even if it hinders gymnastics.
“A Letter I'll Never Send
He said, "Everyone thinks you're a little angel but you're actually a devil. Everyone thinks you're really smart but you're actually very dumb. You don't try hard and you're not doing good enough. It's a good thing I don't have to like people to coach them because I wouldn't coach you. I honestly don't know why I waste my time on you. And don't even think about switching gyms because no one else is ever going to want you."
It’s been two years. So why do I remember every word you said and the way you said it? Why do I remember the the look in your eyes and tone in your voice? Why do I remember exactly where we were standing and the way you seemed to look over me? Why do I remember how I bit my lip so I wouldn't cry but did anyways? And why did I start that conversation never having cried in gym because of hurt feelings and then left it doing the exact opposite?
Who do you think you are? Who told you that it as okay to treat a kid that way or treat anyone that way for that matter? You created a gym so toxic that your gymnasts envied injured athletes because they didn’t have to deal with as much pressure. You brainwashed us into treating every word that came out of your mouth as the gospel, everything you did as a just action. And I revered you. With that power, you could say anything and I would believe you. You could manipulate my emotions, watch them play across my face, then humiliate and penalize me for having them.
That kind of power must’ve been intoxicating for you, wasn’t it? You created a bubble where you were always right, therefore making me always wrong. All my problems were my fault. You must’ve loved that, didn’t you? You must’ve gotten some sick satisfaction from watching me give more than I had to this sport, only to fall apart because I wasn’t meeting your standards. That’s all I ever wanted, was for you to like me. I feared you, I dreaded eye contact, I had to be forced to talk to you, and yet I still spent my time seeking your approval. You knew this, you wanted this, you liked feeling powerful. I was your favorite, so that meant you wanted the best for me, right? Well, thats what you said. When there were other people around you praised me, saying how hard I worked and how far I’ve come. But when we were alone you made sure I knew that I was lazy, not good enough.
My anxiety got worse and worse, OCD coming with it, but that was my fault, right? It didn’t matter anyway, that’s just how gymnastics was. Right? I dealt with it, I dealt with all of it. But imagine staying through all of this. All the days where your favorite sport was turned into something to be dreaded. Staying with all the girls who hated you. Staying through the days where you felt increasingly trapped. Ignoring all this because I was just being dramatic, right? Imagine staying through all of this, slowly breaking yourself in this sport to impress you, only to have you tell me that not only was I not good enough, you didn’t even like me. You thought I was stupid. You thought I was a little devil. You thought no one else would ever want me again. You used your power to put this in my head, and to make me think gymnastics was worth more than I could give. And I was oblivious to the fact that this was all wrong.
Well, it’s been two years. I still think about my time at your gym. I still have that exact conversation run through my head at times. Sometimes I wonder what you would think of me now, what you would say to me, or what I would say to you. I doubt you even remember my name; yours is forever etched in my mind. I still go through periods where my heart hurts a bit, and my mind stays on this. I still go through periods where I fear feeling that trapped again, trapped by the anxiety that you taught me was normal. I still don’t really trust coaches to spot me, and I have to actively not get invested in gymnastics like I was because I fear letting someone have control over my feelings like that again. I still go through times when I want to tell people about my time with you, but they don’t understand it. They weren’t there, they didn’t see, and they didn’t live in my head. Even this letter can't explain the full extent of it.
Emotional abuse is often misunderstood or overlooked. And that’s what you were, abusive. And I realize now that I’m mad. I’m furious that I left you thinking that I was still that nervous girl, trapped. I left you thinking that I still revered you. Well, I have news for you. I’m not that girl anymore, and I stopped having respect for you a long time ago. Now it’s my turn to say it- I don’t even like you. You’re pathetic, and I hate you. And this time, I’m not saying sorry.”
“A Letter I'll Never Send
He said, "Everyone thinks you're a little angel but you're actually a devil. Everyone thinks you're really smart but you're actually very dumb. You don't try hard and you're not doing good enough. It's a good thing I don't have to like people to coach them because I wouldn't coach you. I honestly don't know why I waste my time on you. And don't even think about switching gyms because no one else is ever going to want you."
It’s been two years. So why do I remember every word you said and the way you said it? Why do I remember the the look in your eyes and tone in your voice? Why do I remember exactly where we were standing and the way you seemed to look over me? Why do I remember how I bit my lip so I wouldn't cry but did anyways? And why did I start that conversation never having cried in gym because of hurt feelings and then left it doing the exact opposite?
Who do you think you are? Who told you that it as okay to treat a kid that way or treat anyone that way for that matter? You created a gym so toxic that your gymnasts envied injured athletes because they didn’t have to deal with as much pressure. You brainwashed us into treating every word that came out of your mouth as the gospel, everything you did as a just action. And I revered you. With that power, you could say anything and I would believe you. You could manipulate my emotions, watch them play across my face, then humiliate and penalize me for having them.
That kind of power must’ve been intoxicating for you, wasn’t it? You created a bubble where you were always right, therefore making me always wrong. All my problems were my fault. You must’ve loved that, didn’t you? You must’ve gotten some sick satisfaction from watching me give more than I had to this sport, only to fall apart because I wasn’t meeting your standards. That’s all I ever wanted, was for you to like me. I feared you, I dreaded eye contact, I had to be forced to talk to you, and yet I still spent my time seeking your approval. You knew this, you wanted this, you liked feeling powerful. I was your favorite, so that meant you wanted the best for me, right? Well, thats what you said. When there were other people around you praised me, saying how hard I worked and how far I’ve come. But when we were alone you made sure I knew that I was lazy, not good enough.
My anxiety got worse and worse, OCD coming with it, but that was my fault, right? It didn’t matter anyway, that’s just how gymnastics was. Right? I dealt with it, I dealt with all of it. But imagine staying through all of this. All the days where your favorite sport was turned into something to be dreaded. Staying with all the girls who hated you. Staying through the days where you felt increasingly trapped. Ignoring all this because I was just being dramatic, right? Imagine staying through all of this, slowly breaking yourself in this sport to impress you, only to have you tell me that not only was I not good enough, you didn’t even like me. You thought I was stupid. You thought I was a little devil. You thought no one else would ever want me again. You used your power to put this in my head, and to make me think gymnastics was worth more than I could give. And I was oblivious to the fact that this was all wrong.
Well, it’s been two years. I still think about my time at your gym. I still have that exact conversation run through my head at times. Sometimes I wonder what you would think of me now, what you would say to me, or what I would say to you. I doubt you even remember my name; yours is forever etched in my mind. I still go through periods where my heart hurts a bit, and my mind stays on this. I still go through periods where I fear feeling that trapped again, trapped by the anxiety that you taught me was normal. I still don’t really trust coaches to spot me, and I have to actively not get invested in gymnastics like I was because I fear letting someone have control over my feelings like that again. I still go through times when I want to tell people about my time with you, but they don’t understand it. They weren’t there, they didn’t see, and they didn’t live in my head. Even this letter can't explain the full extent of it.
Emotional abuse is often misunderstood or overlooked. And that’s what you were, abusive. And I realize now that I’m mad. I’m furious that I left you thinking that I was still that nervous girl, trapped. I left you thinking that I still revered you. Well, I have news for you. I’m not that girl anymore, and I stopped having respect for you a long time ago. Now it’s my turn to say it- I don’t even like you. You’re pathetic, and I hate you. And this time, I’m not saying sorry.”
