It’s weird to realize that most people in my life now have no idea I used to dance ballet. Not just as an after school activity but as my entire world. Six days a week, hours a day, for thirteen years straight. My entire schedule, friendships, weekends, and vacations were all built around ballet.
It wasn’t just something I liked to do, it was who I was and now it’s like it never happened.
Ballet had seeped into everything. After school, while everyone else would hangout with their friends or go home and do homework, I was already halfway to the city, changing clothes in the car, and slicking my hair into a bun getting ready for ballet class. I rushed through assignments during my ten minute breaks between classes, then drove home late being sore and exhausted and ready to do it all over again. It was normal to me. I never questioned the routine. That is what my days looked like for years.
I never really questioned how much time it took up or how different it was from what other people were doing. Yes, I missed school events, parties, sleepovers, Friday night plans, sports, but it felt worth it. Ballet gave me structure to my life, something to always work towards. I had something bigger than myself and it gave me a place to belong.
It’s weird to look back and realize how normal it all felt before. I never saw how intense it was because it was normal. I didn’t really think twice about the sacrifices. I didn’t even see them as sacrifices.
That’s why it confused me when the love for ballet started fading.
It didn’t end with an injury or something dramatic. There was no big reason. That made it even harder to explain. There was just a shift that I couldn’t ignore.
Over the summer for the first time in years I got the taste of freedom. I didn’t have long rehearsals, no pressure to be perfect, no strict schedule. I had time to hangout with my friends, sleep in, go to the beach, and try new things. I got to be a normal teeneger and I loved it, I loved the feeling. It made me realize how much I had been missing.
So when I came back from summer break everything felt different. I walked into class, and felt nothing. I felt empty, disconnected, as if I wasn’t even in my body. The spark was gone and I had lost all motivation. I realized I didn’t want this spark back. Quietly, without telling many people, I stopped dancing.
This broke my heart. How do you let go of something that raised you and made you who you are? It shaped how I walked, how I listened to music, and how I understood all values. I realized I never let it go. I just carried it differently now.
The weeks after I quit were harder than I expected. Not because I missed dance itself but because I didn’t know who I was without it. I was missing structure to my life and the predictability of knowing what every day looked like. My days felt stretched out and empty. I felt restless, lost, lazy, had no goal to work towards, and for the first time I didn’t know who I was becoming.
That is the part people don’t see. When you outgrow something, even if you loved it, you never just move on. You mourn it. You think back and forth if it was a mistake or not. You grieve that version of yourself when your entire identity made sense.
Over time the empty space that ballet left started to shift. I never really filled it but I made room.
I joined track. Not because I was good at it but because I like the feeling of having practice after school and the feeling of moving, the routine, and a goal to work towards. I started making new friends, going out more, trying new things like journalism, online classes, and running. I gave myself more room to explore. I started to get comfortable with the uncertainty.
And the weirdest part is I started to enjoy it. I think growing up includes constantly rearranging who you are. You lose parts of yourself and gain new parts. You don’t just throw away your past but you don’t live in it either. Instead you just have to hold it all.
Even now I still feel ballet in me. In how I sit up, in my motivation for small tasks, my ability to count music, my flexibility It’s in my body, my habits, and my mindset. Most people don’t see that past in me. They meet the version of me who’s moved on, who’s flexible, open, and able to try new things. They don’t know the hours I spent in the ballet studio, the sacrifices, the pressures I put on myself, and the discipline I once thought was my identity.
And now I realize that’s okay because maybe that is what it means to grow, to realize that these parts of ourselves never really disappear. They just sit inside of you quietly. I don’t talk much about ballet anymore or lead with it. But I still haven’t forgotten who I was.
