Ballet Personal Narrative

At the age of 2, I was signed up for ballet lessons. Once a week, I would travel to my town’s small, run-down studio to dance for a half and hour. Caitlin, my sister, was in the same class with me even though she was 2 years my elder.
As time went on, I became more serious about ballet. It became my passion. Nights at the studio multiplied from one night to two to four. At the age of 10, I surpassed my sister, and became a level IV ballerina. She eventually quit, but my love for ballet went on. By the time I was 12, I was dancing with the highschoolers. I had become obsessed with ballet. It was the one place that I could forget everything and escape my fears and problems.
At this point, ballet and I had begun to have a complicated relationship;
This year, I was determined to have a better season and end the season with a tiara on my head at Nationals. It all seemed possible, I was the best at my studio and I spent hours and hours practicing. Working to get my relieves higher than ever before and my passes turned out further than possible.
At Nationals in July, in Florida, it seemed like all my hard work was finally going to come to fruition. Even though ballet was no longer fun and no longer a release, but instead a monster that was slowly consuming me, I was ready to take my title and prove to myself that I was having fun.
Putting my delicate costume on, all the butterflies entered into my stomach. But they were not simple, fluttering butterflies- they were rabid and I felt like at any moment I would throw up. I tried to express my feelings to the adults in the room- my dance teacher and my mom. But they insisted these feelings were ‘natural’ and that I just needed to get through the routine and then it would all be over.
I went into the bathroom and splashed water on my face wrecking my flawless makeup but it did not help. Nothing
In terms of dancer etiquette, this is about the worst thing you can possibly do. I continued to run as far as my legs would carry me. I ran to the parking lot with my brand new satin pointe shoes on, no longer concerned about their appearance.
After this disastrous incident, I was forced to re-evaluate my ‘career’ as a ballerina. I finally realized that I could not rely on a placement to determine my happiness. Placements were unforgiving and not a direct representation of the dancer. They were fake, plastic. I had to get over these feelings of perfect and I had to once again remember what it felt like to lose myself in the music. To dance with such a passion that it did not matter who or what was around me. All that mattered was that I was there, dancing on the hard, wooden floor.
Even today, its hard to not get caught up in the rankings, awards, and medals. However, when I feel myself tripping down into that endless pit, and into the darkest depths. I remind myself to take a step back. It helps to remember why I dance. Not for the awards but for that transcendent feeling that I get when I am lost in the