“Beep!” Like that, the music starts, and the world fades away for the next one minute and thirty seconds. But for a long time, it wasn’t that simple. Rhythmic gymnastics has been my life since I was five. It taught me how to push through pain and strive for perfection. But no one tells you what happens when the pressure becomes too much.
After moving from Puerto Rico to Georgia, I lost nearly two years of training. When I returned, I was behind girls younger than me. My new coach barely spoke English, and most practices were run in Russian, a language I didn’t understand. I felt isolated, confused, and constantly struggling to keep up. At first, I told myself to work harder, stay up later, and push through, but I reached a breaking point over time.
Balancing intense training with honors-level coursework became overwhelming. I began to underperform in both school and gymnastics. I felt like I was failing at everything I had worked so hard for. The exhaustion turned into self-doubt, and that self-doubt turned into something darker. I started to believe that no one really cared about me. I often thought that if I disappeared, no one would notice. I felt like a burden, and I questioned my worth. I even hated my own reflection at times, thinking I looked too fat to be a gymnast, too weak to succeed, too broken to be loved.
I kept these feelings to myself for a long time. I thought admitting them would make me seem weak or ungrateful. But the silence only made the weight heavier. It wasn’t until I finally confided in my mom that things started to change. She listened without judgment and helped me seek support. I began speaking with a therapist who helped me understand that my feelings were valid and that burnout, sadness, and body image struggles weren’t signs of failure but signs that I needed care.
Over time, I learned to set boundaries, to give myself grace, and to be proud of my efforts and not just my outcomes. I also found strength in reconnecting with why I loved gymnastics in the first place. When I was offered the chance to join the Puerto Rican Federation for Rhythmic Gymnastics, it reminded me of my purpose and reignited my passion. Representing Puerto Rico at the 2024 Pan American Tournament was a powerful turning point. I stood on the mat not just as a gymnast but as someone who had fought hard to get there mentally, emotionally, and physically.
This journey taught me that mental health is just as important as physical strength. I’ve learned to advocate for myself, to lean on others, and to never underestimate the power of asking for help. Today, I still face challenges, but I do so with a deeper understanding of myself and greater compassion for others. My struggles with mental health didn’t break me; if anything, they helped shape me into someone stronger, more empathetic, and more determined to make a difference.