I first realized I was an attention-seeker on a soccer field. I was a little preschooler: wild and excited. I didn’t care much for ball sports but I loved standing and waving at my mom and doing cartwheels. I learned early on that all I wanted was a stage and an audience, to showcase myself and to be a star.

Soon I found my stardom. Gymnastics was my pride and joy, the sport I loved, but it continued to diminish my passion and hope. For 10 years, day in and day out, gymnastics told me I was a failure. I would sit in the bathroom sobbing; I wanted to leave, but there were still more hours of practice. I’d be back on the competition mat, my small body falling off the bars and tumbling down, twice, an ending that came far too soon. I saw the victory immediately replaced by the words of my coaches echoing through my mind: You only placed because everyone does; You don’t deserve first; You will always be a failure. I remember the burning of my lungs, the ache tearing up my stomach. My tears were hot and fleeting, my legs gave out, and I wheezed. Do it again, they tell me. You aren’t good enough until you can run these lines in under 30 seconds. The memories are flashbulbs and yet something I can’t seem to place. Yet I know they made me better. I am humble, resilient, a hard-worker, a fighter. Gymnastics made me stronger through hard times than I could ever have expected.

My memories of gymnastics don’t leave; they leak into the outskirts of my life, into my next step. Volleyball’s blurry experiences were crammed into two months a year of practice and games, repeated quickly for three years. I was not a part of that team, despite being on it, and I lived for the second set, my only chance to touch the ball. I was not humiliated, but I was close. I apologized to each of my teammates, because I was not good enough. Each moment of small connection wasn’t reciprocated. I learned the importance of fighting for my spot, earning my place. I knew that I didn't deserve anything; I had to work.

So I learned not to define myself by my sports, not to place my identity in others’ expectations of me. And through this my sport came to me. I found a place where hard work was rewarded, and so was teamwork. My sport had the performance and glitter, and yet the strength and power I’d worked to earn.

Now, I relish the joy I have every time I get to cheer. I am the same girl as I always was. When I step on the track, the court, or the mat, I am a performer. I am hungrier than I ever was for gymnastics and I work harder than I ever did for volleyball. I am more joyful than I have ever been in another sport. My pain and injuries no longer feel like a burden, but a badge of honor. I wouldn’t be where I am without soccer; my desire to be a star is shown. Without gymnastics, I wouldn’t have the humility and determination to succeed; without volleyball, I wouldn’t work to own my spot.

But I hungered for a little more: a community, a team, my people. With that, pole vaulting completed the culmination of my life. The pressure is off. Just me, my pole, and the bar. I am surrounded by friends. I learn to let go. I am not the same athlete I have been. I am a pole vaulter. I am a cheerleader - the perfect combination of my needs, wants, and dreams. But I am me. More than anything, I am Ella, built by resilience and choice, a small reflection of the American promise to become.

© Ella. All rights reserved. If you are interested in quoting this story, contact the national team and we can put you in touch with the author’s teacher.