I may not have had much of a home the past twenty years, but I’ve always had gymnastics. The sport has been my salvation since I was old enough to understand the chaos going on around me was neither healthy nor normal. While most ten year old’s homes are full of playful memories, mine was stocked with cases of beer and an overflowing recycling bin full of liquor bottles. Each night they clanked together as a new one was added to the top. The homes lining the streets of suburbia may have appeared average to the common passerby, but what lurked behind our front door was enough to haunt my dreams for years. Appearances can be very deceiving.

When week nights at home became unbearable, my mom enrolled me in my first Intro to Tumbling class. Although nervous, the surge of power I felt while flying through the air trumped listening to my dad punch holes in the wall or gripe about his hangover. My mom may have taken years of verbal abuse before kicking my dad’s ass to the curb, but I’m thankful she was able to provide an outlet for my own frustrations and aggravations. Often feeling out of control at home, pushing my body to the limit in the gym has been the one constant I’ve been in control of. Although I’ve always overdone my training, each bead of sweat, each sore muscle was because of me—not them. Nobody can break me down when I’m in my element. Especially not when I’m in control.

The thought of what I might have become without gymnastics scares the shit out of me. In and out of therapy for years, it took a school guidance counselor to notice the hazy look in my eyes and depleted self-confidence. Simply put, my give a damn was broken.

Ever since I gave up on my family’s happily ever after, I’ve been determined to rise to the top. From a very young age, I knew my talent would be my one and only ticket to escape the small town I’ve grown up in. Living in a place with little opportunity, it’s up to me to create a future different than the status quo.

So while I continue to remain invisible in my everyday life with only a handful of people breaking through my protective outer shell, I choose only to come alive in the gym. The chalky floors, exhausting routines, and the nagging aches and pains, are daily reminders of how invested I’ve become in the idea of more. Though many in Ashland, Tennessee have settled for a life of monotonous boredom, often selling themselves short, I’m determined to rise above the statistics. This girl is going places.

Having said that, I almost ate my words a month ago when the pressure of the upcoming All State meet was eating away at my confidence. One night as the hours ticked by on my bedside clock, I asked myself if this dream of gymnastics was worth it. I needed to figure out what I’d have to latch onto once my career was over. Would I crash and burn without a distraction, or would I rise to accept a new challenge?

Contemplating giving it up altogether to enjoy my college experience as a normal junior would, I couldn’t walk away. The thought alone had me panicking. Sure I’d had enough of being told what to do and when to do it at twenty years old, but I need the boundaries. I thrive off the discipline my coaches drill into my skull each and every day. Without it, I’m left to my own devices and nothing is scarier than feeling alone. But that’s not the only reason I decided to stick with it. Without gymnastics, there’s no way I can pay for college unless I want to be up to my ears in debt for the rest of my life. I’d be stupid to throw away a free ride, so I tossed the idea of wild abandon out the window while holding tight to my meal ticket.

Thanks to my impressive showing at the All State meet, I got noticed by a division one team. I applied to many my freshman year, but was rejected. But even though it’s taken longer than planned, I’ve finally outgrown my cozy and safe oasis here at the local community college. While the idea of bigger and better opportunities flood my mind, if my new team isn’t a good fit, I risk losing scholarship money and my shot at a college degree.

Seeking refuge in my therapist’s wisdom, she laid it out in front of me plain and simple. Do I want to stay where I’m secure, or do I want to take a chance to allow myself to be vulnerable? The choice is mine. It sounded simple enough, but after a week’s worth of sleepless nights, I threw caution to the wind and accepted the offer to attend the school of my dreams. They finally wanted me.

Once my decision was made, I packed my entire life into the car I’d been given as a graduation present from my father two short years ago. Of course he didn’t show up for the ceremony, but he sent the car along with a note in his secretary’s hand-writing. The same secretary I found him screwing in his office the day I picked up the keys to my new ride. Making no apologies, he tossed the keys in my hands and I saw myself out. So much for him doing the right thing for once in his life.

Looking back on it, I should have thrown the keys in his disgusting face, but I accepted the gift knowing that if I refused, I’d be forced back onto the public transportation system thanks to my lack of funds. My gymnastics schedule leaves no time for a part-time job, let alone one that would give me enough extra cash to afford a car payment on a brand new car.

My mom provides for us the best she can with her job at the retirement home, never accepting the money my father tried to pacify her with in the divorce settlement. I’m not exactly sure why, but maybe she cares more about her own pride than her bank statement. In fact, she’s always thrown all of her extra cash into my gymnastics career, reminding me how important it was not to let her down. Whether a threat or a promise, her words create an intense pressure to be the best. But with pressure comes opportunity. Nobody has ever achieved greatness by taking a back seat.

But now, after years of blood, sweat and tears, the real journey begins as I cruise down the interstate getting lost in my favorite country music playlist. I’m leaving behind the anger, pain, and frustration for my shot at more. As the miles slowly add up on the odometer, my head bobbing to the beat, body swaying to the rhythm, I know I can do this.

Almost a straight shot to the south, the five hour drive leaves plenty of time for self-reflection which is both a blessing and a curse. Constantly consumed by my own fears, my nerves usually hold the happiness of my accomplishments hostage. But this time, after reciting a silent prayer, I ask God to show me in whatever way he sees fit that I’ve made the right decision. I don’t know if I’m expecting something to fall from the sky or divine intervention, but when the five hour drive ends and I’m not any closer to clarity, I assume my answer is yet to come. And as scary as that is, I can live with it.

After two wrong turns in town, I arrive on campus with my car stuffed to the gills. My body is screaming to get out and stretch and once out of the car, I take a deep breath, inhaling the sweet southern air. Okay, it smells a little like shit thanks to the surrounding farmland. Picking at the cotton of my tank, the heat is intense with the sun creating a blinding reflection off the windshield. I’m well-adjusted to the summer heat but the humidity already has my tank top sticking to my sweaty skin. If I want to get inside and cool off, I need to start unpacking.

The back seat looks like a game of Jenga. It’s a toss-up which box will make the entire pile collapse once I yank it out. Closing my eyes, I tug on various items, only choosing the ones that easily slip out of their spot without a fight. A few times I have to use my foot to push something back inside the car, but I manage to slam the door shut once my arms are full.

I adjust my boxes, leaving a small space for my eyes to peer through the heavy load I’m carrying. With my room assignment in hand, I’m ready to discover what awaits me on the third floor of Johnson Hall. Unfortunately, the parking lot’s located at the top of a hill. The stairs are clogged with luggage, so I decide to trek down the grassy knoll instead. I begin my decent, careful with my steps so I don’t topple over. One sway in the wrong direction and I’m doomed.