On perseverance
How to unlearn learned helplessness
I don’t know exactly where I went wrong, but somewhere along the way I pieced it together that if I was good at something it was because I was just inherently good at something, and if I was bad at something, I was just bad at it. End of story.
Results get praised and closers get coffee.
The lesson life taught me was that no one cares how much work you put into something unless you get results.
As a child then, I absorbed the praise for a job well done, but somehow missed the whole, “I’m so proud of how hard you worked.” I’m sure it must have been there, but for whatever reason, it never stuck. Especially when it came to sports.
When I was 5 or 6 I was in love with baseball. I dreamed of being the first woman baseball player. I’d play it all the time in our backyard with the neighborhood kids, and didn’t care how good or bad I was. It was just fun.
But after my family moved when I was in third grade, I became shy and self-conscious, especially when it came to sports. Even more so when I got glasses — glasses that became a dodgeball magnet in gym class. I was often picked last in gym — probably more because of how shy I was, not because of how bad I was. But it only served to make me feel worse and worse about my ability. Once, when I was 9, my gym teacher put me in timeout because I couldn’t serve the volleyball correctly and kept hitting it into the other courts. I cried in the corner for 15 minutes. Maybe it wasn’t the final nail in the coffin, but it was pretty traumatic.
I dreaded gym class for years, but managed to slog my way through by feigning indifference and half-assing my way through everything. I was resigned to the fact that I sucked at sports. Even though I secretly loved when we played field hockey or did yoga. But! The popular kids were good at sports and I was just the dorky girl with glasses. The social hierarchies had been formed, and I would forever be bad at sports. The end.
Fast forward 20 years later and I decide that I wanted to join a gym. A gym with weight lifting and burpees and AMRAPs. I’ve been working really hard to overcome some of my old fears and insecurities, and face them head on. As part of learning and relearning more positive patterns of thought, I came to realize that I hadn’t really learned how to persevere. I had learned how to give up when I wasn’t naturally good at something. I had learned helplessness, especially when it came to athleticism, so naturally, that was the best place to begin unlearning my learned helplessness.
Luckily there’s a gym in my neighborhood that’s truly amazing. And having the right environment and people encouraging me has been a huge piece of my growing success. The Queer Gym (previously called The Perfect Sidekick)is an LGBTQ gym (that’s hetero-friendly), and the focus at TPS is on helping people feel good about themselves and their bodies, regardless of their gender, age, weight, sexual orientation — whatever. It’s designed to be a safe and encouraging space for people to be themselves.
When I initially contacted The Queer Gym , I told them about how much I hated sports as a kid, but I wanted a change. I was sick of the myths that I had told myself and bought into — the belief that I was no good at anything athletic. I wanted to do this for me and no one else. I just wanted to feel strong in myself. It wasn’t about being the best athlete ever, but about being better than I used to be and proving to myself that,“Sucking at something is the first step towards being sorta good at something.” It turns out, I would be in great company.
Lessons on perseverance, brought to you by The Queer Gym
- The first step is to show up. The second step is to keep showing up. The gym has a wall where members can write their names after 100 sessions. I’m almost one year in, and currently at 95 sessions. My goal this year wasn’t to lose weight — it was to show up and get my name on that wall. And in the process of showing up, little by little, I’m getting stronger and working it longer and longer each time. If I hadn’t faced my fears and shown up to the boxing class that first time, I’d never have known how much I love punching shit.
- Great coaches and great mentors make such a big difference. Having people who know how to support you and encourage you to make progress is so critical. At first, I was embarrassed when I did something wrong. Now, I’m actively asking for help and making sure my form is right. I’m more comfortable making mistakes because I know and trust that the trainers are there to help me get better. It’s not just about the trainers kicking our butts, but about getting the right kind of encouragement to keep trying.
- Starting small yields huge results. At first, my goal was just to get my ass to the gym. And once I got there, I’d fall back into the old trap of feeling bad about myself because I couldn’t lift as much weight or do as many push ups as everyone else. But thanks to the great trainers (see #2) who help me tailor the workouts to wherever my current level is, I start small and work my way up incrementally. Before, I’d want to give up when the getting got too hard. Now I want to push through it. And the more I push myself — even just a tiny bit more, the better it feels. Holy shit, that dopamine rush when I make it just “one more time.”
Not only do I feel better about myself physically, I feel like failure is no longer terrifying. I don’t have to hold back for fear of making a mistake or looking bad, or because someone is so much better than me. It’s not important anymore. What’s important is I’m getting better. I want to try, and I want to get better and better, little by little.
This isn’t just for the gym, but really all aspects of life. Perseverance feels just as good, if not better than outright success. When success just happens, it’s fine, but it’s always a bit hollow. But real results, as I’m learning, come from real work. And that shit feels amazing.
