I was three years old when I fell in love with ballet. The way it felt to move, to express emotions without words, and to lose myself in the music – it became a part of me. For 13 years, I dedicated myself to the art, pouring everything I had into every plié and every grueling hour at the barre. Ballet was my passion, my purpose – the thing that made me feel most alive.
But somewhere along the way, that love turned into something else.
The Day Everything Changed
When I was 16, I auditioned for my ballet company, eager to move up to the next level. I had trained relentlessly, pushing my body to its limits, and I wasn’t just dancing – I was also involved in track, soccer, volleyball, and golf. I was eating healthy, working out daily, and perfecting my technique; however, when the results were posted, I realized nothing had changed.
I was absolutely devastated, but I needed answers. I turned to my private dance instructor, someone I had trusted – someone who had guided me through my journey. I asked her why, despite my dedication, my skill, my relentless effort, I wasn’t chosen.
Her answer shattered me.
She told me that while I had the technique, I would never be taken seriously as a dancer unless I lost weight. I was 5’7″, 127 pounds, and apparently, that was far too much.
I can still remember how those words felt – like a punch to the stomach, like everything I had worked for was meaningless. In an instant, my love for ballet was tainted. My body, the one I had trained and strengthened for years, was suddenly my biggest obstacle.
That day became a turning point. Or, more accurately, the beginning of my downfall.
The Spiral
After that, I stopped wearing tank tops and shorts and started leaving the studio in sweatpants and hoodies, ashamed of the body I had once been proud of. I wanted to hide, to disappear into thin air.
I remember that day so clearly—my dad picked me up from ballet. Usually, it was my mom, but that day, she was busy. I had spent what felt like an eternity in the dressing room, sobbing, clawing at my skin, feeling like I needed to erase the body I had worked so hard to build. When I finally walked outside, my hood was pulled over my face, and I climbed into the car without a word.
My dad knew something was wrong. He asked me what had happened, but I couldn’t tell him. Not while we were still in the parking lot; not when I knew he would storm inside and raise hell for what they had done to me.
I just told him to drive.
When we got home, I ran to my room. My parents came in after talking, worried, desperate to understand why their daughter, the one who had devoted her life to dance, was now curled up in the dark and crying like her world had just ended.
Because, in a way? It had.
A Love Turned Into an Obsession
From that moment forward, my relationship with food became warped.
Some days, I wouldn’t eat at all. I would listen to my stomach growl and feel an odd sense of satisfaction, like it was proof that I was finally taking control of what had held me back. Other days, the hunger would catch up to me, and I would binge, consumed by guilt and self-hatred afterward.
My mom started noticing, seeing the food I had thrown away, the untouched meals. Eventually, we went to the doctor, and I was told I was underweight. You would think that would have been a wake-up call; that I would have realized what I was doing was only hurting myself.
But instead, for the first time in months, I felt happy. I walked out of that doctor’s office with a smile on my face because, in my mind, the suffering had been worth it. I was finally becoming what ballet wanted me to be.
I went to class the next day, thinking everything would change. I thought I had done enough, that I had lost enough – that my instructor would finally see me as worthy.
But when I asked her if I could move up, she said something I will never forget:
“Even though you lost weight, you will never have a dancer’s body. No matter how much weight you lose, that will never change.”
A week later, I quit ballet. The love of my life.
But quitting ballet didn’t mean I quit hating myself.
The Years That Followed
Even without ballet, the damage was done. Through the rest of high school, I ate as little as possible. The voice in my head told me that food was the enemy, that I had to keep shrinking, keep striving for an impossible standard.
When I got to college, I gained weight and every single hateful thought I had ever had about myself came rushing back. I saw my 16-year-old self staring back at me, sobbing at what we had become and finally realized that there had to be a healthy way for me to balance my life and food.
Trying to Heal
Since the summer of 2024, I’ve been trying to heal, to reclaim my body, to find the healthy balance I never appreciated when I was younger. Some days, it feels impossible. Some days, the weight of ballet culture still lingers, whispering that I will never be enough.
But I’m still here. I’m still trying.
And if you’ve ever felt this way—if you’ve ever been told that your body is the problem, that you will never be enough—I want you to know that you are not alone.
This is my story, but unfortunately, it is not unique. So many dancers, athletes, and young people struggle with the impossible standards forced upon them. And while I never thought I would share this on a public platform, I am doing so now because I know there is someone out there who needs to hear this:
Your worth is not defined by your weight.
Your talent is not measured by your size.
You are so much more than a number on a scale.
And even on the hardest days, you deserve to take up space.
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