When you're a kid growing up, and you think you're gay, you know

In the words of Greg Louganis, we hear a voice that carries both the pain of difference and the triumph of resilience: “When you’re a kid growing up, and you think you’re gay, you know that you’re different; you’re often teased and it can really destroy your self-esteem. But sports can be great for building self-esteem.” This saying is not merely a reflection upon childhood, nor simply upon athletics, but upon the deep human struggle to belong, and the sacred means by which strength is forged in the fires of adversity. Louganis himself, a champion of the diving board, speaks not only as an athlete but as one who bore the weight of isolation, and yet transformed it into the wings of glory.

In ancient times, philosophers and poets alike declared that the soul which suffers and endures gains a vision denied to the untested. The child who feels different, who is mocked or shunned, often walks through shadows of despair. This path of loneliness can carve wounds in the heart that bleed for years. Yet, as the quote reveals, the discipline of sport—its rhythm, its trial, its triumph—becomes a balm, a fortress for the fragile self. For in striving with the body, the spirit is lifted; in contesting with others, one learns not only skill, but dignity.

Consider the story of Achilles, who though bound by fate and destined for sorrow, still found his greatness upon the fields of battle. His power did not erase his inner conflicts, but it gave him a place where the song of his being could be heard. So too with Louganis: though the world hurled scorn, the diving platform became his sacred stage. Each leap into the air was not merely a contest against rivals, but an assertion of existence: I am here, I endure, I am worthy. This is the essence of building self-esteem through struggle.

And think also of Billie Jean King, who stood against both gender and societal prejudice. Through tennis, she did not only strike the ball across the net; she struck against the walls of limitation, declaring a vision of equality that outlived the games themselves. Here we see the eternal lesson: that the arena, whether of sport or of art, may become a sanctuary where the broken spirit is reforged into steel.

Let us then take Louganis’s words as a teaching for all generations: the child mocked for difference may find salvation not by hiding, but by embracing the discipline of growth. Sports, in their purest form, teach us to endure, to rise after falling, to respect both self and rival. They whisper a sacred truth: strength of body can awaken strength of soul. Where others once saw only weakness, the field, the pool, the court, reveal new courage, new pride.

For those who walk today in the shadows of doubt, let them seek not the approval of mockers, but the shaping power of practice, of discipline, of community. Join a team, run a mile, lift a weight, swim a lap. In every act of training lies a seed of renewal. As the ancients declared: “Know thyself.” And how better to know thyself than in the crucible of effort, where weakness turns to strength, and despair to purpose?

The clear lesson is this: difference need not be destruction. It can be the spark of destiny. If life has taught you to doubt your worth, rise, and let the discipline of sport or art or labor restore your belief. Honor your body as the vessel of your soul, and you will find that what was once despised becomes your crown. Mockery is fleeting; strength endures.

So, dear listener, take up this teaching: build your self-esteem not in the voices of the crowd, but in the sweat of your striving. Let each step forward declare that you are not broken but becoming. Let each practice, each challenge, carve into your spirit the truth Louganis lived: that what once sought to destroy you may, through discipline and courage, become the very ground upon which you stand triumphant.