Confi-DANCE...can I have some please?

  I used to be a dancer.  Even saying it like that feels weird.  I haven’t said that to a lot of people for years and the reason is because I feel too fat and out of shape to do so.  And, when I say it, I bring major ups and downs with the statement.  I bring joy, trauma, sadness, injuries, jealousy, friendships lost and found, and a profound sense of embarrassment for not being a dancer anymore.   It’s a lot.  When I say I used to be a dancer, I mean that I was a dancer before I was anything else.  I grew up with that as the key ingredient in my Mary Kate salad.   It was my first and truest love.

My audition photo for Pennsylvania Ballet.
Check out those problematic thighs.

    My mom tells me that she kept waiting for me to quit but I just kept at it.  I was 13 the first time I found out I was fat.  I was auditioning for Pennsylvania Ballet’s summer camp and at the end of the class, after I was cut, I went to the ballet master and asked to see my card.  He said, “Your body has grown in a problematic direction and we just don’t see that getting better.”  Basically, “Girl, you’re too fat.”  At the time, I cried.  I cried the entire way home.   I wondered what it meant about me.  I started examining my body in the mirror.  I saw myself differently.  Instead of seeing my body as a tool that would guide me through all the challenges that dance provided me in life, I saw it as a barrier.  I started seeing what I didn’t have or what I couldn’t do because of my body instead of my potential.  In short, I started limiting my own potential because of the opinion of one company.  Not even one company, but one person.  And I could blame that guy for his comment and call it cruel, but it was me that decided his opinion about me was worth more than my own. 

The Pennsylvania Ballet Master wasn’t alone in his opinion.  I was in high school when I was double cast for a lead role with a girl who was thinner than me.  The costume designer told me she didn’t have time or desire to sew two rows of hooks on the back of the bodice and I would just have to figure it out on my own.  I took that to mean exactly what she meant.  I needed to lose weight.   I ate nothing but an egg for breakfast and jello for dinner for two months straight (all while dancing 6 hours a day) and I fit in that costume.  I was proud of myself too.  I remember coming home for Christmas break and praising myself for weighing 112 pounds.  I even attended my normal dance class at home and received praise from my teachers there for the way I looked.  So, when I was thinner, I got praise, and when I was fat, I got cut.  Easy conclusion to assume there.   

New York 1996
I remember hating the way my butt
looks in this photo.

It was not until I went to college that I started admiring the moves of girls who didn’t have perfect bodies (by dancer standards).  I loved watching a friend as she danced with more confidence then I have ever seen.  Don’t get me wrong, she was gorgeous.  Her body was strong, her feet were arched, she was flexible, and she looked amazing when she moved.  Our professor once stopped class to make us all watch her perform the routine we were rehearsing.  He said, “When Ashland jumps, everybody watches.”  He was right.  She was amazing.  But she didn’t have anything close to a thigh gap.  Her thighs had muscles.  Her calves were thick.  That’s why she could jump like that.  Her stomach was intensely strong.  That’s why she could balance.  But, above all else, Ashland was confident when she danced.  She controlled that room like it was a part of her.  She embraced the body she had and never let the opinions of what she should be interfere with what  she could be.  Maybe at some point in her past, someone had told her to lose weight.  I’m sure they had.  No dancer makes it to adulthood without hearing something like that.  I’m not sure what she told herself after that in order to ignore it and move forward but I sure wish I knew.  She wasn’t the only one either.  There were so many girls who behaved the same way.  They danced with confidence I couldn’t buy with all the money in the world.  And I still wonder what it must feel like to dance inside a body you love like that.  

      I injured myself a lot as a dancer. I sprained ribs, my neck, my knee, I sprained my ankle countless times, I dislocated my hip and my shoulder, I broke almost every toe.  I even broke a finger once during a hip hop class.  Not my finest moment.  Looking back I wonder if my body was revolting back at me for the way I hated it as much as I did when it was working so hard for me.  That revolution caused me to quit my career pretty early and instead of staying connected to dance, I pretty much let it go slowly.  If I couldn't be a dancer, then I wouldn't dance.  Sure, I had my moments where I would try to dip my toe back in but to tell the truth, there was a lot of trauma left in that injured toe and I always found a way to escape dance again as much as I loved it.

Well, now I am an adult.  I’m 40, to be exact.  And I weigh a hell of a lot more than 112 lbs.  I am pretty sure I would die if I weighed that now.  I have put my body through a lot over the past 5 years too.  I gave up my career. I underwent IVF.  I had a baby via C section.  I stayed home to take care of her.  I lost my gall bladder.  I joined weight watchers and lost 30 pounds.  I sprained my ankle (again) and gained it all back.  When I lost that 30 pounds last year, I was praised left and right for it.  And I felt really good about myself too.  Losing weight is hard work.  I had to write down everything I ate.  I carried salad dressing in my purse.   I stopped seeing my mouth as the garbage disposal of a three year old.   I worked out everyday.  It was work and I was pretty happy doing it.  I liked feeling like I was putting myself and my health first.  I made my beyond the scale goal of being able to see a picture or a video of myself without hating it.  I never got there but I came close.

        But, as previously stated, I injured myself again.  And after that, I lost my motivation.  I became very sad. I ate a lot of pizza and drank a good amount of wine with friends to feel better.  I put the good dressing on my salad, if I even ordered salad.  Let's face it, tacos were back on the menu too.   I kept trying to get back at it but I couldn't  do it.  I couldn't seem to commit myself.  I love my Peloton like a best friend and it’s right there in my living room but I wouldn't  get on it.  Why was that?  Why couldn't I use the confidence that I felt last year to motivate me to go back to that lifestyle?  Why couldn't  I remind myself that I am for some reason worth more when I am thin? And as obvious as the answer seems, it took me a while to realize that the truth is I am not.  I am not  unimportant when I am not thin?  I'm just depressed about it.  And that is definitely something worth working on.

I recently moved and thought a great way to gain some friends and child free time in a new community was to join the local gym.   So, I found a gym that offers two hours of child care a day and that has been the most amazing experience for me.  I showed up a few months ago about 2 minutes before a Zumba class was starting and even though I wanted nothing to do with a dance class in front of a mirror in my current weight class, that Latin beat pouring out of the room went straight to my heart and I walked to the front.  It took about 30 seconds for me to remember how crazy in love I am with dancing.  I started tearing up at the extreme love I had for myself in that moment but instead of actually crying, I laughed.  I took a second to look up at myself and I was smiling.  I was really smiling.  All of the sudden, I wanted to be strong again.  Since then I have made it a point to attend that class every time I am able.  It’s been the best release.  It’s my time that is strictly mine and that is really hard to find with a three year old.   It reminded me that I used to be pretty good at dancing.  And, it’s actually begun to teach me that I don’t have to be good at it.  I don’t even have to be thin.  I just have to be myself.  I have to have fun!  I have to smile because my body won’t let me not.  I have to embrace the potential of my body, even at 40 years old.  The opinions of artists who saw me as nothing more than a paint brush for their own masterpiece, no longer matter.  What matters is that I stop being so mad at my body for what it isn’t and start embracing the privilege of being able to move.  So, here is a video of me taking up a lot more space then I used to in more ways then one as I learn to lead a class of amazing dancers who should all feel good as hell.    If you look close, you’ll see cellulite, you’ll see extra pounds where they shouldn’t be. There is jiggle where I wish there was strength.  There is a swollen belly where I spent years trying to put a baby and after a long painful journey, I finally did.    I can’t go as deep into certain moves as I once could because my knees and ankles hurt when I do that.  Sometimes, it feels like I can hardly move at all with residual arthritis from cortisone injected injuries seeping in.  But, if you look really close, you’ll see me laughing.  You’ll see me having the best time dancing to one of my new favorite tunes.   You will probably also see me making poor food choices here and there, or choosing the couch over the bike sometimes.  But maybe I can decide that doesn’t always matter.  Maybe it’s not so important.  It might not even mean anything about me.  It is my responsibility to not let my body grow in a “problematic direction” but it’s also my prerogative to decide which direction that is.   

So, with that being said, I am going to explore my self image issues in writing.  I did this when I went through IVF and I really liked feeling like I wasn’t alone.  Well, this is another big battle for me.  Not just losing weight or getting fit and healthy, but embracing and loving myself when I don’t.  It's about learning to love dance again.  And on that note, embracing that dance isn't about being the best or the thinnest.  I want what so many of the ladies I watch in Zumba have.  Confidence.  I don't have to dance like Ashland did, but I would love to feel like she did.   Poor body image is one of the major issues women face and I know it’s a big one for me.  With self exploration, maybe it won’t be for by Darby.  Maybe I can change things for her.  Maybe we all can.