Thoughts from a former amateur ballet dancer

Identity and Tunnel Vision

For a while, ballet was my entire life, especially as I dipped my toes into competitions (think YAGP). I would ride the bus back from school, eat an enormous afternoon snack, and immediately begin preparing my hair for dance. Oftentimes, I wouldn't get home until 9:00 pm. Looking back, ballet became my personality, and I explored very little of my identity outside of it.

I felt an extreme sense of community with my ballet company; with the amount of time we spent together, they were practically a second family. Of course, with that investment of time on top of schoolwork left very little of my day for me to explore other things; like simply "hanging out" with friends; like exploring my neighborhood beyond a 1 mile radius.

Quitting.

March 2020 — coming back unknowingly from my last ballet competition, my dance studio announced that it would close due to the COVID-19 pandemic. A month soon turned into me making the decision to leave ballet, though I never officially announced it anywhere (except to myself). Originally, I covered up my reasons of quitting by narrowing it down to concerns for my parents’ safety. While this was definitely one of the points I considered, other reasons that I did not disclose included:

I no longer wished to stare at myself in the mirror for hours every day.
The external validation I strove for from coaches was becoming overwhelming.
Going to classes were slowly turning into excitement mixed with dread; I couldn't discern what I actually felt about it.

As people repeatedly asked me over and over again whether I'd return to the art form or not, I repeatedly postponed this answer by assuring them I'd eventually return to the studio. It was incredibly hard for me to use the word QUIT even though that's what I had truly decided. Quit. quit. QUIT. (The word looks funny now).

Making up for lost time

Of course, ballet had its draining qualities, but its disappearance nonetheless left a hole in me. I was left to my own devices with 16 hours of my life returned to me once more. I began envying my school’s athletic teams: the way they cheered each other on and how they united together against the other schools. Most importantly, they gave each other a sense of belonging, something I had recently lost.

I soon realized that without ballet, I didn't really have anything that I could define myself as. Taking away that aspect of myself revealed an empty shell, which deeply disturbed me.

Soon enough, however, what I thought would be permanently empty eventually became filled: biking, hiking, walks, and running around outside. I began spending more time with family and even started a goal of going to every trail within a 20-mile radius. The loss of a sport and art form I had been chasing for 10 years had inevitably made me feel something was missing from myself, but I believe that I’ve ultimately gained more than I lost. I learned how to define a new sense of belonging.

I still love it.

Dancing is a form of expression that I still, fully love. This post is in no way, shape, or form reprimanding ballet - it's only providing another perspective into what it's like to quit when you truly need it; that quitting provides room for growth rather than stagnancy.

I can't wait to explore this art form out of the adolescent constraints of perfection and competition. So, honestly, I'm so glad I quit. Over the past two years without ballet, I've found community where I least expected, sweated buckets from being outside, and made a few new marks on the blank slate I used to be. Quitting is not admitting loss; rather, it can be simply taking a break for growth.