I was scrolling through facebook when I saw a post sharing a link to THIS ARTICLE by Simone Biles' sports psychologist. I kind of skimmed the intro, and started really reading when he gets into describing common scenarios he has seen take place in high level gyms.
Yelling, screaming, shaming, degrading, and humiliation are the first shaping behavior the coach uses to mold the gymnasts into a silent participant in this dance.
The usual response to this harsh treatment by the coach is that the gymnasts shuts down. They get quiet, turn inward, become highly emotional, cry, and get easily frustrated. They tend to make more mistakes.
I laughed thinking back to one of the many times I fell off beam in practice and my coach, Youlia, would angrily sigh, slice the air with an up-turned hand and ask, "what kind of attitude is this?"
It was of course my bad attitude that made me fall. I could have chosen to stay on. Sweaty feet were simply a scapegoat.
Some coaches stop coaching gymnasts who don’t follow the rules.
Yeah, I could easily name the girls who were ignored. Theirs was always an odd plight. No, they never got coached. It was probably humiliating and hurtful to be ignored to the point of invisibility. But, they never got yelled at. So, was it that bad?
I have worked with gymnasts who sit in their car and cry before they go into the gym, because they are terrified of going to practice.
Yeah, I cried in the parking lot.
I remembered the commute we made for years to get to gymnastics. It was an hour long drive we made almost daily. I remembered the car sickness that seemed only to bother me when the gym was the destination.
I remember the pit in my stomach that started to eat me alive the closer we got. I remember squeezing every muscle in my face and looking up as hard as I could to discretely drain the tears that were drowning my eyes.
I remember being unable to breathe, unable to unbuckle myself.
I remember my coach coming out to the car, unbuckling me, asking what’s wrong, taking me by the dry, calloused hand and leading me in to practice.
I remember the adults feeling like total strangers to me.
I remember feeling alone.
I remember feeling like it was just me and my body trying to make it happen.
This was the sport I loved.
And now, it was being called "textbook abuse." It was one of the strangest moments of my life. As rough as some of my memories were, I never once considered them to be a part of an abusive experience. In fact, the worst stories had become a source of pride and humor for me. The old stories were my shtick once I got into teaching gymnastics classes to CrossFitters.
I started reading closer.
"...these former gymnasts are all the same. They are quiet, very introverted, afraid to make mistakes, afraid that they will be yelled at ... afraid to [say] they are injured."
If I had to succinctly describe my challenges today, I could just say that.
This article made me revisit my entire gymnastics career. And as I replayed the memories, my pride was subdued, and duplicity took root.
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