Are you a dancer?
When people ask me if I’m a dancer, I’ve noticed that I give a vague and dismissive answer: “Yes, kind of, but just for fun.” Or, “Yes, but not like I used to be.” Or maybe even, “No, not anymore.”
Why is claiming the word “dancer” so hard for me these days? I mean, I still take dance classes. Why am I not still a dancer?
I’ve thought about this a lot recently, and I believe it boils down to two things: A) being self-critical, and B) having found an identity outside of being a “dancer.”
A) The self-critical part of me, which was fine-tuned and solidified during my time as a professional ballet dancer, won’t let me claim the “dancer” title easily anymore because my dancing is not at the level it was when I was dancing 8 hours per day. I no longer qualify as a dancer in my subconscious mind because my leg doesn’t go as high as it used to, or because I don’t dance en pointe anymore or have adequate turnout. Then I notice myself having these judgemental thoughts, snap myself out of it, and re-ask myself the question: “Am I a dancer?” I know the answer is yes - I will always be a dancer, even when I don’t always feel like it. Dance is in my underlying movement patterns; it influenced my development from a very young age. Dance is why I cannot stay still when a good song comes on, and it’s why my favorite part of our newly purchased home is the pirouette-friendly wide open space between the breakfast room and the kitchen. Dance is why I have an eye for the slightest of movement dysfunctions in my patients, and why my second career as a physical therapist and movement specialist felt so natural.
We have GOT to relinquish the unreal expectations of ourselves and celebrate all the things our bodies can do well, instead of focusing on all the things we could do better, or used to do. I’m finding more joy in dance classes now than I probably ever did before, simply because I’m respecting where my body is, and where my dancing is, instead of wishing it were somewhere else. I still have to work hard for this more loving and compassionate mindset - it doesn’t always come easy for me - but taking dance class with myself is a whole lot more fun than it used to be. And accepting all parts of myself without judgement, especially the dancer part, gives me a freedom I never had during my professional ballet career.
B) I have found an identity outside of being a dancer - a healthier and more well-rounded one - and claiming the term “dancer” carries a heavy burden of an identity that I’m not sure I want to bear again. I have heard and felt very rigid definitions of what being a dancer means. One example is in the comment I once heard all too frequently: “You look like a dancer.” People meant it as a compliment, but really it reinforced the firm physical and external limitations of what dancers should look like, act like, etc.
But being a dancer does not have to have these rigid confines. Dancers can take any shape and size. They can be any age, and move in any way. I am now a person who dances. I am a dancer, but my identity is not intertwined in the word like it used to be. And this is good for me. It’s better. I know who I am, even when I’m not “on my leg.” Being self-critical and holding high expectations for myself is part of what has made me successful in accomplishing my goals, but it has also made my life very difficult. And knowing myself as a person, both inside and outside of dance, has been integral to a long and healthy relationship with the art form.
So am I a dancer? Hell, yes.
Elizabeth Tilstra