You Can't Quit Until You Learn The Lesson, Kid
Kneeling by her bed in the darkness, I could barely understand the words Boo choked out through frustrated tears: "I don't want to be a gymnast anymore if it feels this baaaaad!"
Her first competition was coming up in less than a week. The outrageous competition fees, leotard, sweats, and extraneous gear were all paid for. The plans of friends and relations eager to see her do her thing somewhere other than a grassy back yard were all laid out and set in motion. But Boo wasn't on the bus with the rest of us--she was in line to buy a ticket for the fail train. Leaving the station, Saturday afternoon.
Three months ago, she'd hurt her arm doing a back handspring at a friend's house. It was a only a sprain, but the trip to the x-ray just to be sure was a wake-up call, for her. An emotionally-sensitive seven year old control freak in touch with her own mortality isn't pretty. Especially at bed time.
She'd been so happy, even training as hard as she did. Until this point. The anxiety had now built to epic proportions, even for her. Every night it was, "I don't want to go to the gym tomorrow, Mom," followed by a frantic, clingy rain shower. I was sure it was the stress of the first meet, not knowing what to expect, not feeling 100% sure of her abilities, and worrying that she wouldn't be The Best. Nerves can bring on bad joujou, baby. Bad joujou.
We gave her lots of hugs, told her stories about how we dealt with stress as kids, too, suggested relaxation and creative visualization techniques, had her talk to her coaches to see what advice they had for coping with anxiety. And when that road dead-ended, I decided it was time to stop indulging her whenever she freaked out.
Continued on the next page
Follow Technorati