Elementary School Gym Class Still Haunts Me
We know that thoughts shape actions. What we might not realize is that long held beliefs of ourselves during our childhood can still influence how we think of ourselves as adults.
No experience in elementary school sparked more fear and dread in me than the annual rope climbing test.
If you grew up in the 1980s in the United States, you may be familiar with this gym class rite of passage. If not, here’s a quick summary: With the ostensible aim of assessing physical fitness, once a year the elementary school gym teacher (my teacher’s name was Mr. Hall) would drop the rope from the ceiling of the school gymnasium and drag a red vinyl map underneath it (a feeble nod to safety, since a 2-inch mat was not going to do much to cushion a 15 foot fall). Equipment assembled, he would arrange the class in a circle around the rope and call us up, one by one, to meet our fate with the twine beast.
The objective, of course, was to climb to the top of the rope. I could not attain the objective, or even get close, so for me, the test felt like a form of public humiliation. It was bad enough that I couldn’t do it, but even worse that my peers had to bear witness to my athletic shortcoming.
My maiden name began with an N, so I had to watch a lot of other eight year-olds with shocking upper body strength effortlessly scale the rope and slide down with triumphant looks on their faces. I’m sure that others couldn’t climb the rope, but I felt like I was the only one.
When my name was called, I would grab the rope, dangle pathetically for a few seconds, make a halfhearted attempt to pull myself up, and quickly scurry back to my spot hoping no one noticed.
I am not a doubles tennis player
I’ll never forget that discomfort, the raw vulnerability of feeling like a fool while everyone was watching.I have avoided this type of humiliation ever since, quite successfully, I might add, until the day nearly 40 years later when my tennis coach, Michael, asked me to join the ladies doubles team. An important point of information is that I have never, ever been asked to join a sports team.
My response was quick and definitive. “Michael, you do not want that, I do not want that, and most of all, my prospective doubles partner definitely does not want that. I’d prefer to continue with lessons.” He didn’t mention it again during the lesson, and I was pleased that I had gotten my point across. No ladies doubles for me.
Well, Michael is one smart cookie and must have sensed that I am a people pleaser who has trouble saying no. At my next lesson, he didn’t ask me if I wanted to play doubles–he told me I would be playing doubles.
“Tara, I’ve signed you up for tomorrow’s ladies doubles practice. It starts at 9 a.m. and you’ll play three matches.”
He wasn’t taking no for an answer, and I took his insistence as a vote of confidence. Besides, I reminded myself, I’m always telling people to step out of their comfort zone. So I relented.
Would the ground just please swallow me up?
The next day, I arrived at the court a few minutes before nine and nervously introduced myself to the other players, making sure to apologize in advance to my hapless doubles partner. We warmed up with some light volleys, and pretty soon, performance anxiety swept over me like a tidal wave. I was hitting easy shots into the net or out of bounds, and each time, my doubles partner forced a smile and told me “good job,” but I could sense her growing annoyance. I was annoyed with myself, so why wouldn’t she be?
The lowest point of the match came when, after five attempts–yes, you ready that correctly–I still hadn’t managed to get a serve in bounds AND over the net. The other team was winning point after point off my botched serves, and I just wanted the ground to open and swallow me whole. As I readied my next attempt, I imagined the four of us standing in the sweltering heat for hours, waiting for me to get a decent serve in. Somehow, mercifully, I landed a legal serve, but I could not get off that court fast enough when the match was over.
The next day Michael asked me how the match went, and I didn’t mince words, “I hated it. I was so nervous and couldn’t hit anything. I constantly worried that I was letting my partner down. I’m more of a singles player, I think.”
If he was shocked by my brutal honesty, he didn’t lead on. Instead, without skipping a beat, he asked, “Don’t you think the other women were nervous, too? Everyone is nervous when they first start out. I wouldn’t have sent you if I didn’t think you’re ready.”
The realization that everyone feels nervous and inadequate
His response caught me off guard. I assumed that I was nervous because I am not good at sports and that others were not nervous because they were more confident about their skills than I was. It never once occurred to me that other people were nervous, too. I was attributing my performance anxiety to a lack of athleticism instead of a lack of experience.
The stories we tell ourselves–and believe to be true
His words prompted me to wonder: Is the problem that I’m not good at sports, or that the story I tell myself is that I am not good at sports? And if the problem is a lack of experience, won’t I have to put myself in that uncomfortable position again if I want to improve?
As much as I hate to admit it, that painful morning on the tennis court taught me that the story I am telling myself is holding me back and preventing me from trying new things. I realized that forty years later, I am still haunted by that rope.
Thoughts shape actions, and over time, the thought that I had about my athletic ability (or lack thereof) was “I am not athletic.” Over time, that thought became a belief, an “I am” statement that became part of the way I see myself (my self-concept). When a thought becomes a belief, we seek out confirmation of the belief and discount any evidence to the contrary, generating a self-perpetuating cycle. In my case, my belief that I am not athletic caused me to avoid athletic pursuits and ignore any performance or achievement that might suggest I am more athletic than I think.
What if, instead of telling myself I’ll never be any good at tennis, I start telling myself that I am learning? What if I give myself permission to make mistakes on the tennis court? What if I strive for excellence and recognize that there will be some good days and some bad days? After all, even the pros occasionally miss a serve or a return.It’s time for me to let go of that belief about myself, even though doing so means I will have to get out of my comfort zone.
Change Starts with Self-Awareness
It is possible to overcome self-limiting beliefs and change the way we think about ourselves. Here’s how.
Identify your self-limiting beliefs. What are some of the beliefs that you have about yourself? How did you form them? Would others agree with them? We all have weaknesses, and examining your self-concept does not mean deciding that you are or will be awesome at everything if you simply change your mindset. Rather, it means delving into premature conclusions you may have drawn about yourself and creating new opportunities to grow.
Look for evidence to the contrary. In my case, I love physical activity and am in good shape, which means that saying I am not athletic isn’t entirely true. Maybe you struggle with public speaking and have adopted the belief that you are not a good public speaker. If you have this belief, chances are you discount any evidence to the contrary in favor of feedback that confirms your belief. Even if public speaking isn’t your forte, you have likely performed better than you think on certain occasions. If that’s the case, then maybe it’s time to move to step 3 and challenge your belief.
Look for opportunities to challenge your belief. This is the hardest step of all. When people tell you to get outside of your comfort zone, this is what they have in mind. Your self-concept is about as comfortable as it gets and challenging it is, well, uncomfortable. I was not comfortable on the tennis court that day, and it wasn’t because it was a sweltering August day in south Texas. But you know what? I did play ladies doubles again, and I performed better the second time.
I’m confident that the US tennis community did not miss an opportunity with me, but I have missed out on a lot of opportunities because of my self-limiting belief that I am not athletic. I will never be a great tennis player, but with practice and experience, I will get better, and that is enough for me.
Now, does anyone know where I can find a rope to climb?
