“Darling, open your eyes. You are not made up of those words that hurt you. Or that number on the scale. Or the expectations that you feel you will never meet. You are made up of nothing more than you. Simply, beautifully, wonderfully, uniquely, you. You are a lovely and complex soul. An individually fascinating combination of thoughts, ideas, feelings, emotions. No other is as beautiful as you. Look past the mirror. Look at your soul. Only then will you see yourself as you truly are. Beautiful.” -Anonymous
Thursday, March 19th 2015, I am handed a paper and expected to sign away my life. The next day at approximately 7:30AM starts a new beginning for me. A new beginning for my health, a new beginning for my mind, a new beginning for my emotions, my feelings, and my thoughts. I haven’t been okay for a very long time, my speech is weak, my mind is short, and my temper blows the walls off any place I am standing in. Tears permanently soak my cheeks, my throat swollen from screaming, and my face is an undeniable pale. I look so fragile that anyone may shatter my body with a touch of their pinky. I am over twenty pounds underweight, and think I am obese.
Being a cheerleader isn’t always what outsiders think it is. Yes, the glitter, lipstick, big hair, skimpy uniforms, and beautiful smiles hide the pain that I feel on the inside. I have been bullied into a negative perception about myself my entire life; I have always been reassured that my worth as an individual was determined by the way I looked in the mirror, and the number set on the scale. Being an all-star cheerleader meant I grew up sacrificing most things to be successful in my sport, but what happens when a sport becomes damaging to an individual’s health?
The pressure for success, and the pressure to be perfect is so stressful that I felt that there was nothing left to control besides how I exercised and what I ate. Not to mention the negative phrases and constant put downs I heard on a daily basis coming from my coaches.
I felt as if I had to look perfect in my uniform and I had to be the smallest girl at practice wearing a sports bra and I had to be able to out-run anyone on the pacer or “beep” test because that meant I was perfect, and being perfect would make my team successful.
Being a cheerleader, I was expected to wear a crop top uniform. Not all cheerleaders were flattered in this uniform, however, it was required to wear. Although I may not have been one of the girls who needed to worry about the way I looked, I did anyways because of the constant name calling I endured by my coach on a practice-by-practice basis. The phrases, “jiggly legs, cheeseburgers, McDonald’s, hefty, heavy” and the constant comparison of my coach saying, “I look better in this uniform than half of you” are some contributing factors to my body dysmorphia; could you blame me?
My cheerleading coach was once a cheerleader as well, and at a very elite level dancer, which is where her obsession with health comes from. At first, the coach was very mild with her fat accusations, she would recommend a “healthy” lifestyle in hopes that her athletes would eventually pick up her dieting ways. After a while, my coach became more graphic and specific with what needed to be a priority in their life, so I decided to make a change. I began eating healthier foods, exercising outside of practice, and down-sizing my calorie intake. I was successful for a while and saw amazing results, but eventually things got out of control. Since my coach’s demands were so specific and I was so set on being successful, I began to make my health the most important aspect in my life to please my coach, and to be noticed in a positive way. This was very unhealthy because it began to consume my life. I made exercise outside of practice my number one priority, even over school, I would not eat with others who did not eat as healthy as I did because it grossed me out, I began to isolate myself from others who did not live the same lifestyle as I did. There was a very long time that at practice I would only talk to certain people because of the lifestyle they claimed to live by and the way their bodies looked. I could not get myself to associate with anyone else who did not feel that the way their body looked was the number one priority, well because, I thought that the smaller someone was the less lazier she was, and that was so wrong, and so untrue.
I eventually did not believe I was worth anything to anyone if I was not MY idea of thin. I was obsessed with the idea with being skinny. My favorite compliments became the ones where people told me I looked smaller. I even appreciated negative worrisome comments such as, “Do you eat?” And “Your head is beginning to look un-proportioned with your body” because I knew others were seeing my skinny efforts as well.
Interesting enough, the woman I was dying to please hardly ever notice my physical efforts; after a while, I thought she even wasn’t interested in me anymore. Unknowingly, I was complimented one time by her, the week I began my recovery journey, and if “looking great” meant sick, cheek bone exposed, fragile, breathless human, then I never want to look great again.
Once I discharged from the hospital, I really began to focus on my happiness and the steps I needed to take to get there. Since May, I have gained twenty five pounds and although I am not entirely happy with that I must say, I do find it remarkable.
Cheerleading sometimes isn’t all what it is cracked up to be, and unfortunately, in the industry, my coach isn’t the only woman who says the things she says and acts the way she acts, it’s actually a norm. So before other women’s athletic teams rip cheerleaders apart for rolling out their mats on their squeaky gym floor to practice, just remember that not all of us feel as comfortable as you may think, practicing and sweating, half naked with all that makeup on.
