On the physical demands of dance, and how one ballerina found peace with her passion.

Text by Shaina Cavazos

Illustration by Lora Hlavsa

I’m staring at the scuffed floor, doubled-over with my hands on my knees, panting softly. As the sweat drips off my face, I wonder if I’ll ever make it through the rest of this ballet class at the School of the Missouri Contemporary Ballet.

Inhale, exhale.

I shake out my legs and steel myself for the next combination. Back straightens, leg extends, foot points and arms breathe, billowing out softly from my sides. The music starts, and all I can think about is how much my feet are cramping and my back hurts. Back injuries can quickly go from relatively easy conditions to treat, to injuries that worsen when not treated right away, leaving people with life-long consequences. If your back injury was caused by someone else’s negligence, you can hire a back injury lawyer Schaumburg for legal help.

Coming off of a four-year dance hiatus, I have a long way to go before I’m back in fighting shape. But even as I struggle and sweat through this one-and-a-half-hour class, a huge knot in my chest loosens. It feels like home.

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I’m what you’d call a recreational ballet dancer–I don’t get paid to dance, and I certainly have no future in doing so. I dance, very simply, because I love it.

Sometimes the recreational dancer is misunderstood–one perspective, based on research by French philosopher Michel Foucault, presented in the January 2007 issue of “Gender and Education,” questions why a woman who does not have the typical ballet body would want to keep dancing with other similarly “unsuited” dancers.

Maybe, just maybe, she does it because she enjoys it.

Daniel Simmons, director of Ballet Midwest Theatre in Cincinnati, Ohio, says he knows plenty of students who dance not because they want to be professional ballerinas, but because they love dancing and they love classical ballet. He’s had students return to dancing quite “unsuited” to it, as Foucault would say, but driven by their passion for the movement, refinement and beauty of ballet.

Just looking around any public gathering space you can see many types of bodies that wouldn’t traditionally fit in at a ballet studio; our biology, to a certain extent, sets us up to either be a success or a failure. Dance forces us to confront these obstacles on a daily basis.

But I don’t think ballet is inherently bad for young women. And I don’t think it teaches women to be unhealthy by ignoring needs of their bodies at the expense of an ideal body image.

“People who are dancing are both wonderfully athletic and wonderfully artistic, and that’s really positive,” Nadine Kaslow, resident psychologist for the Atlanta Ballet, says. “People really learn to have control over their bodies and therefore, they have control over many things in their lives.”

Kaslow says ballet is part of her identity, and she’s been dancing since she was 3. She got back into classes seriously as an adult because it was a part of herself she didn’t want to lose. Now, she’s found a way to combine her passions for psychology and ballet.

“I think it was a process for me to leave ballet in a serious and more full-time way; it was a struggle,” she says. “For some period of time it was sort of painful to be there and say, ‘I’m not as good as I used to be,’ but over time I grew up and I came to see that exercise is a really important part of my life, and I’m more likely to take ballet classes than do anything else.”

If ballet were bad for her well-being, she simply wouldn’t do it anymore. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard to go back. Fortunately, being actively involved in the ballet world again is wonderful for her physical and psychological well-being, she says.

Tina Santos-Wahl, a former principal dancer with the San Francisco Ballet and a teacher in Florida, says ballet is too hard to do just for kicks. You have to love it.

“Most of us who have danced before know what that feeling was like when you were soaring in midair and doing grand jetés,” Santos-Wahl says. “It will take you a full year to get yourself in the same condition you were in when you were 17-years-old. You have to think of it that way.”

And you know what? At that first class, it certainly felt like it would take a year. After a few inflamed joints and a seemingly never-ending bout of shin splints, it now feels like it will take five years. But I’m committed.

The state of body image in the ballet world is tenuous and fraught with exceptions to the rule. There are different realities body image-wise for dancers of every stripe, recreational or professional, and I think it is time we acknowledged that no group of dancers, just like no group of people, is homogenous.

I think it is time we acknowledged that no group of dancers, just like no group of people, is homogenous

The question that lurks in the background of these discussions seems simple: Are professions that set strict body types harmful? And does that harm trickle down to amateurs?

Maybe.

Recreational ballet dancers have it easier, but they are not exempt from some of the pressure. The difference is, recreational dancers can choose how much of the burden they want to bear.

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Conversations about body image are tricky.

In many circles, they are taboo–no one talks about them, but no one denies the problems exist. It’s important here to distinguish between professional and recreational dancers. All dancers have to learn to accept their bodies, but pre-professional and professional dancers bear the brunt of the pressure. For them, their bodies are their livelihoods.

Tina Santos-Wahl, currently a teacher at New World School of Arts in Miami and formerly a teacher at The Harid Conservatory in Boca Raton, Fla., says teachers have to look for a functional body by professional company standards.

“If you recruited for football you’d never recruit a scrawny guy,” she says. “You look for strength. So that’s what we would always look for for Harid’s.”

She makes an interesting distinction between the atmospheres at her schools. At Harid Conservatory, a pre-professional school, there is still very much an emphasis on a more traditionally slender ballet body–that’s the professional standard. In an educational and more recreational environment, however, where the stakes are lower, not every dancer has to look like a member of a Swan Lake corps.

For a lot of young women, the pressure can start early, especially when it’s clear you got the tall genes in your family. Ashley Deran is a dancer in Chicago who has a performance and choreography background and has worked with Esoteric Dance Project and Inaside Chicago Dance . Full disclosure: Ashley is also a friend of mine and someone I danced with for years. She says that she dealt with body image issues all through high school; her tallness and wide bone structure set her apart from the shorter, more petite girls we had class with.

She’s known for a long time now that her career would not be in classical ballet, despite her strong technique. During her senior year of college at Western Michigan University, she was frequently cast in ballets and had an opportunity that year to do choreography with former American Ballet Theatre dancers.

But that prestige, the realities of professional ballet became apparent. Deran had to lose weight for the part and spent an entire semester not eating meat and only drinking water so she could fit into her tutu. She says it was worth it in the end for the experience, but in the long run, it’s not a lifestyle she wants to continue. A tdee calculator could have helped her understand her caloric needs better, allowing for a more balanced approach to weight management without sacrificing nutrition. Visit steroidukshop to find a weight loss supplement that’s more sustainable.

“I would rather be healthy and eating the foods I want to be and dancing the way I want to dance and not be on a contract and starving myself and being unhappy,” Deran says. “And I had to make that decision for myself. I think that’s what a lot of people struggle with, trying to find the best way to dance for them.”

 I think that’s what a lot of people struggle with, trying to find the best way to dance for them.

She hasn’t shied away from talking about how body issues have affected her dance career, and she doesn’t want to do that with her students either. Deran teaches at a couple studios in the Chicago suburbs and is focusing on helping her students, ages 3 to 16, feel good about their bodies and what they can do.

“I think constructive criticism for kids that age is fantastic because they want to be corrected, but they don’t want to be shut down,” Deran says. “I want to support them while still helping them be the best dancers they can be.”

No matter how comfortable a dancer is with her body, some stressors exist in ballet studios that are taken as givens: the mirrors and the clothes.

Research on how such things affect dancers is pretty clear: standing in front of mirrors for hours wearing very form-fitting clothing can highlight aspects of the body you aren’t proud of. In those studies, women who wore tighter clothing or danced facing mirrors reported feeling worse about their bodies than women who wore looser clothing and were not always in front of a mirror.

“Mirrors are frenemies,” Deran says. “They can be such a good learning tool for young students, but it’s so easy to get sucked in and then obsess.”

Deran says she is trying to break her habit of always checking the mirror when she stands at the Barre. She doesn’t need it to tell her when she’s having a good day. She can feel it.

Mirrors and all, I tend to feel more comfortable in my own skin in a ballet studio than in a bar.

Crazy, I know. Nothing about a leotard, tights and being surrounded by plenty of graceful, rail-thin people usually screams “confident”, but the feeling is hard to articulate. I suppose it’s because I’ve never been around a group of people as supportive as other dancers.

As a young, 20-something woman, I feel that looks and body image play into every social gathering in some way, whether the judgment is self-inflicted or passed along through sidelong glances of others across the room. Fat, skinny. Hot, not. There’s a right and a wrong for every trait, and you can bet if you haven’t figured out yours, someone else has.

But I’ve never felt that judgment at the barre. In fact, the best compliment I’ve ever gotten came from one of my ballet teachers at the School of MCB. She told me I looked strong.

You see, for me, strong has no downside. Telling me I look pretty suddenly sparks thoughts that I might have been lazy before. Telling me I look thinner makes me think before I looked heavy. But strong is direct. It means my teacher can see how hard I’ve been working, that she recognizes my effort and how it has paid off.

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Unfortunately, and perhaps stereotypically, conversations about ballet can devolve into conversations about eating disorders.

Ellen Fitzsimmons-Craft, with the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill psychology department, found that women who compared themselves more to others and aspired to an “ideal standard” for female bodies had higher instances of eating disorders.

But Kaslow reminds us that most ballet dancers do not struggle with eating disorders. Sure, we hear about them because in that population there are higher rates of them, but they don’t affect the majority of women.

Dancers are very conscious of their bodies. But that’s different than a disorder.

Wendy Oliver, a professor at Providence College, is well aware of the cultural demands placed on women’s looks, but agrees that most dancers don’t battle eating disorders. Yet professional ballet still demands a slender body, Santos-Wahl says.

For ballet dancers, the prevalence of eating disorders is higher than for the general population, though numbers can vary widely from study to study. Research done in the last three years places the difference anywhere between 3 percent and 17 percent. Some of these studies suffer from small sample sizes and survey techniques, which are less reliable than clinical interviews.

The point? It’s hard to know just how many professional dancers struggle with eating disorders. Although more than one of the teachers I interviewed emphasized that it isn’t a problem for the majority of dancers, it definitely outstrips that national average for women, which is about 12 percent (note: 20 million out of 158.3 million in 2011, from NEDA research).

Even though many teachers try to push the message that it’s important to be strong and healthy, Kaslow says there are often subtle cues about how thin is important–who gets parts, pictures in magazines, reviews–which can combat the healthy message just as much.

“Dancers in the dressing room get into it themselves,” Kaslow says. “You don’t hear them saying, ‘I should be strong, I should be healthy.’ You hear them say, ‘What did you eat? I think I gained a pound.’

But oftentimes, eating disorders can spawn from self-esteem issues that might have existed without ballet, Santos-Wahl says. Some dancers try to lose weight smartly, she says, and others lose it stupidly.

The risk of injury can dictate what weights are acceptable in professional ballet companies. If a person can’t lift you, you might not be able to dance there. If you or a loved one has suffered from a traumatic brain injury (TBI), you must seek help from an expert Las Vegas brain injury lawyer. Athletes are usually wondering can terpenes offer relief from neuropathy. Lifting–men lifting women and, more recently in modern choreography, women lifting women–is a reality of dance. Contemporary ballet and modern dance choreography do not necessarily rely on traditional gender roles in dance, which unofficially dictate that men do the lifting. Gus Giordano Dance Chicago and Joffrey Ballet dancers do pieces where women lift women, and they are just two of many.

Sometimes artistic directors put restrictions into place, but sometimes technique and repertoire do, too.

“I don’t think we can ignore the whole issue, but I think that it helps when there are positive images of dancers that show a range of weights,” Kaslow says. “And when people get promoted who aren’t necessarily the thinnest in the world, I think that there are things that we can do. Even the magazines can do a better job with the pictures. There’s still that image of the ‘Balanchine dancer.'”

George Balanchine, a renowned American ballet dancer and choreographer, got brought up in every interview I held, with dancers, teachers, psychologists and researchers. The infamous scene everyone referenced involved Gelsey Kirkland, a dancer with the American Ballet Theatre who was called out in class by Balanchine because he thought she’d gained weight.

He preferred the skeletal ballerinas, which spawned a trend that would continue in American ballet until recently.

“Dance is a body profession,” Santos-Wahl says. “The ballet companies now are really hiring women that are stronger but not anorexic looking,” Santos-Wahl says. “Not unlike my time, there were many cases of anorexia at that time. Mr. Balanchine pretty much started that. Next thing you knew, the whole ballet world wanted to be like that.”

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As Deran’s and Santos-Wahl’s stories show, some aspects of classical ballet have changed. Skeletal ballerinas are no longer fashionable, and they are being replaced more and more by strong, slim, athletic dancers. Perhaps these women weigh more than a typical Balanchine ballerina, but probably not as much as an average-sized woman. Companies are also diversifying racially and ethnically, though there is definitely still room for improvement. Misty Copeland, the only current and third-ever Black soloist in the American Ballet Theatre, is proof of that.

A June 11 LA Times article called Copeland a “trailblazer.” And frankly, she is. Starting ballet as a teenager, Copeland is considered a prodigy of sorts, yet she does not necessarily conform to the image of a traditional classical ballerina. She is visibly muscular and curvy, and she is black. Her journey should be an example to dancers looking to defy racial and body image stereotypes in ballet.

“Classical ballet (was) very difficult for the black dancer back in the day, but that is in transition,” Santos-Wahl said. “Today, there are qualified dancers of all ethnicities being hired. So it doesn’t matter what you are, it is very accepted.”

The growing popularity of modern dance and contemporary ballet has, in part, required a change in dancer physique as well. To jump higher, turn faster, lift more safely and generally perform dynamic, athletic choreography, a dancer has to be stronger; grace is not enough.

Modern and contemporary ballet companies also have the flexibility to recruit dancers who demonstrate their own aesthetic, Deran says, not Balanchine’s. Dancers who depart from the rail-thin image get the chance to find where they fit, too.

To jump higher, turn faster, lift more safely and generally perform dynamic, athletic choreography, a dancer has to be stronger; grace is not enough.

“When I got out into the professional world it was more of a matter of figuring out what company was looking for someone like me,” Deran says. “It’s almost like dating someone now; it’s not just you auditioning for a company, but they’re auditioning for you as well.”

Susan Langdon, who lectures at Bates College, did research that showed contemporary dancers had more positive body image than ballet dancers. Does the type of dance encourage a certain body image, or do certain body images gravitate toward a different type of dance? I’m not sure, and it seems like a chicken-and-egg situation that would be hard to prove definitively one way or the other. What we do know is that modern dancers are seeing some relief from the rigid body type standards that have long persisted in the classical ballet world.

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My dancing days started with wobbly arabesques in front of the black oven in my kitchen. As a five-year-old, it was perfect height for looking at my reflection while balancing precariously on one leg, the other stretched behind me in what I must have thought was an elegant pose.

It wasn’t long after that that I was dancing twice a week at Northwest Ballet Academy, a small-ish studio in the Northwest suburbs of Chicago. I danced my way through grade school, middle school and high school, suffering a low blow when I found out the University of Missouri didn’t offer dance classes anymore.

But by that time, I was ready for a break. I didn’t fully appreciate the error of my ways until I set foot in the MU Student Recreation Center during my senior year, timidly stepping on an elliptical machine.

I made the promise my senior year that I would do my best to make healthier choices, both in the kitchen and in the gym. I started running, doing more Pilates and cutting delicious simple carbs from my diet. But I didn’t feel excited. Getting myself to the rec was a real drag. If you’re facing a similar situation, exploring gym shops near me might provide new workout gear or accessories that could reignite the excitement and motivation for your fitness journey. Another idea is to try pickleball, a fun and engaging sport that can add variety to your workout routine and keep you motivated to stay active. For beginners, finding the best pickleball paddles for beginners can make learning the game more enjoyable and accessible.

As I pushed through my 30-minute runs, all I could think was that I’d rather be dancing. As it turns out, a lot of people agree with me. Dance is more than exercise; it can be a physical, mental, emotional and even spiritual activity.

Daniel Simmons, director of Ballet Midwest Theatre in Cincinnati, Ohio, says dance has always been a very personal experience for him. Because he grew up playing music and was encouraged to be a conductor, he thinks of dance in terms of how it relates to music.

“Even just standing there and doing a port de bras with your head and arms to beautiful music, oh my word, it’s so fulfilling,” Simmons says. “Not everybody feels that; that’s what I feel. I try to give them that with beautiful music.”

Katy Telfer has danced for so long she can’t even remember how it started. Her mom tells her that when she was 3 years old and attending performing arts preschool in Oak Park, Ill., she used to sit outside the adjoining dance studio and watch the ballet dancers. Her mom enrolled her soon after, and she hasn’t stopped dancing since. Now she’s a graduate of the University of Michigan’s dance program, and she’s pursuing a professional career as a modern dancer.

When she started college, she got used to a lifestyle where eating and drinking became more prominent social pastimes, and her confidence began to take a hit. She realized that to be in the top tier of professional dancers, she had to be thin.

“Periods of body change start affecting your confidence a lot more when you are starting thinking about, ‘Can I make money doing this?’ and ‘Do I need to change how my body looks?'” she says. “And it really is, excuse me, a mindfuck.”

Sometimes it’s all she can do to remind herself that she’s normal; that the judging is coming from within. Her voice oozes disgust as she repeats an exchange she had with some of her dancer roommates.

“It was always worse when I’d be eating a cookie and they would say, ‘Oh, I wish I could eat a cookie,'” she says. “And I would feel so bad about myself for a second. But after a while, you can’t say that aloud. You can have a cookie. Don’t beat yourself up because everyone else was beating themselves up.”

Because when it really comes down to it, nothing makes her feel like dancing does.

I grew up dancing in a school where your size wasn’t your defining feature. Rather, there was a strong focus on artistry, strength and health. Excellence was encouraged, but effort and dedication were valued just as much as natural talent.

Of course, my studio was not in the business of churning out professional dancers like some “elite” or “pre-professional” studios are. Many girls I danced with went on to study dance in college and dance with professional companies, but many didn’t.

As a curvy girl, I was never shamed or embarrassed for how I looked. I got more grief for having hair in my face or frowning too much than for my size, which hovered between a 6 and a 10 through junior high and high school. It just didn’t matter — I did my best, improved and respected my teachers. Ballet allowed me to create something beautiful with my body, and that did as much for my self-esteem as any diet or exercise regimen.

Ballet allowed me to create something beautiful with my body, and that did as much for my self-esteem as any diet or exercise regimen.

Dance teachers should work to make their classes supportive environments, Oliver says, and try to balance criticism with constructive comments and positive comments as well. Comments should be directed toward movement and aesthetics, not body type. Emphasis should be taken off an ideal body type because, really, unless a dancer is pursuing a professional career in classical ballet, there isn’t one.

Oliver says she teaches her dance technique classes away from the mirror and tries to be lenient about clothes so her students feel more comfortable. But she doesn’t think ballet research skews only negatively or positively — how ballet affects dancers is ambiguous.

Santos-Wahl says it’s rewarding working with students to try to build their confidence. If she has a particular student she’s trying to help, she’ll start by having the student stand in the middle of the room and show off a step, position or phrase. Let’s say a dancer is demonstrating a developpé a la second, unfolding her leg to the side.

“Did you see that?” she’ll say to the class. “Demonstrate for me again. Show exactly what you just did.”

Sure enough, she explains, the dancer will unfold her leg. Santos-Wahl will then take it at its highest point and lift it just a touch higher. The whole class will look on, holding their breath and then applaud her.

“You see?” she’d tell the dancer, “You can do it. You can do it.”

Many teachers don’t actively address body image issues with their students, preferring to let young dancers grow and develop confidence rather than enter into discussions that could do more harm than good.

“I don’t think there’s any way you can get away from the fact that in classical ballet, the body is always going to enter in the picture.” Simmons, of Ballet Midwest Theatre, says.

Simmons describes how when he watches some of the girls walk into the studio, the first thing they do is look in the mirror at their bodies. He wishes they would try harder to appreciate the beauty in the detail-oriented nature of classical ballet instead of being caught up in anxiety and nervousness about whether their bodies look a certain way.

“That’s the beauty of ballet, you know, turning your head, your inside shoulder from the barre,” he says. “You’re absorbed in the detail of refining that instrument, and that’s positive.”

“I’m really hoping that studios and teachers are becoming more and more aware of the issues of eating disorders and body image problems and that they are trying to raise awareness of their students as part of what they do,” Oliver says. “Or at the very least, they are not causing problems by teaching in ways that are potentially harmful to students.”

Telfer says she’s never had a dance teacher remark on how she looked physically other than commenting on strength. But she says some teachers are loathe to bring up issues with girls who might be suffering from eating disorders because a thinner body type, even an unhealthy one, could be more likely to get a job. As Telfer put it, there are perks of eating less if you are a ballerina.

The tensions between how to eat and how to stay fit and healthy will probably always exist within dancers, Telfer says. Yet it can still send body positive messages if the healthy messages are nurtured and not ignored.

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It’s hard for me to explain just what dancing means to me. It hasn’t always been easy — In fact, I have struggled to develop technique and understand what my limits are given my body type and my age. But it’s so freeing.

One year ago this May I returned to ballet. It wasn’t really because I wanted to. I had to. Now, I’m taking five classes a week and dancing more than I have at any other time in my life. I’m letting the calm and fulfillment that comes with dancing wash over me as much as I can for the hour or so a day I can escape my hectic journalism-filled life.

I am proud of my decision to go back to something I love, regardless of real or perceived judgments about my body or my age. Now, I smile more when I dance. I try to dance with my whole self, taking to heart comments from past teachers about letting your strength and confidence radiate from your sternum and project out to your audience.

I am proud of my decision to go back to something I love.

I welcome the criticisms. I welcome the corrections and the friendly competition. And I welcome the sweat and strained muscles that remind me of how far I have come.

I know I won’t be a professional dancer, and I really never would’ve been able to. Even with the sparks of change we’re seeing in the industry and the trends toward more athletic-looking dancers, I still don’t fit the bill. But that doesn’t mean I can’t reap generous rewards from ballet. For now, you might have to be slim to make a professional career out of ballet, but you certainly don’t have to be slim to do ballet. The only requirement for being a dancer is to dance and love dancing.

I commend and revere ballet dancers who partake of this “body profession.” Their path is not an easy one, and we should all be aware of the pressures they face, pressures that in some cases can lead to serious eating disorders and severe issues with mental health.

We can champion the ideals of classical ballet while still championing the health and strength of ballet dancers. Part of that is knowing enough to start the conversation, to realize that body issues are not best left for young dancers to grapple with on their own.

What I love about ballet isn’t tied to what I weigh or whether I’m having a “skinny day.” It’s about those feelings of accomplishment and a drive toward creating something beautiful with my body. It’s precision, confidence and striving toward a kind of perfection. It’s a place where I’m constantly learning and growing.

“Ballet is hard,” my teacher, a professional contemporary ballet dancer, repeats often. And she’s right. It is hard. It’s exacting and frustrating and, at times, painful. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I’ll keep doing it as long as I can.

When I look in the mirror now, I still see some insecurities. I mean, I am still human. But mostly, I feel strong. I feel passionate. I see a woman who has spent the better part of her life working to develop pride in herself and in her body. And I see success.

Shaina Cavazos is a Missouri School of Journalism grad headed to report on all things K-12 education for Chalkbeat Indiana. Although she is fairly wedded to journalism, Shaina finds joy in cooking, reading, and of course, dancing. Follow her on Twitter @ShainaRC.

Lora Hlavsa is The Riveter’s resident graphic artist. She’s a graduate of Macalester College, where she majored in geography and art, and currently lives in Minneapolis. You can follow her on Twitter @loramariehlavsa and on Instagram @coloraco.