Come out of the shadows

I am the mother of a professional ballet dancer, I am also a physician and former ballet dancer. Growing up in ballet, the mantra was, “blood, sweat, and tears make a dancer”. This phrase perfectly captured the degree of sacrifice required to become a ballerina, but it also implied a distorted sense of normal; if you weren’t suffering in some way, you weren’t worthy. Each blister was a point of pride; every injury incurred was like a badge of honor. 

Raising my own dancer, I sought to instill within them a more balanced sense of self-preservation, reminding them frequently that their body was their instrument, one that should be cared for and preserved. From self-care would come longevity. What I have learned is that my child is not dancing in a vacuum. My lessons to them clash with cautionary tales of dancers' past, immense competition, and subtle threats from those around them.

Wanting to support a family friend who has been battling REDs, I offered to get involved with Project RED-D and advocate in any way I could. My child asked me to remain anonymous in my advocacy, concerned that my work here would affect their employment. 

Think about that. My involvement in a campaign to improve dancer nutrition and health might negatively affect their career. What drives their request is the driving force of so many other choices made by them and every other dancer over the years: fear. They performed with a fever of 103 degrees. They danced in severe pain. They ignored injuries. They requested to attend rehearsal upon awakening from anesthesia. They skipped meals because artistic staff did not schedule a (required) lunch break for them. They are afraid, afraid of losing favor with artistic staff, afraid of losing roles, afraid of not getting a contract, afraid of not getting that contract renewed. 

Dancers make these seemingly small sacrifices every day. They do this for the privilege to live a dream; they do what they love for a living. Unfortunately, tiny adjustments made every single day can eventually add up to big and unforeseen losses - potentially career-ending injury, premature bone loss, permanent digestive issues, depression, and perhaps the most tragic, a loss of love for what was once the reason for such supreme sacrifice. 

After all the tiny self-induced losses, some dancers walk away with broken bodies and a total lack of direction; what do you do when the one thing you’ve worked your whole life for is gone?

My child gets to do what they love for a living, and for that I am so proud. They have worked so hard to get to this point in their career, but no point of the journey has been without sacrifice - of sleep, food, time with loved ones, and of self. I wish that I could empower my child with fearlessness and a dance culture that would embrace it.

There is safety in numbers, so for now, the best I can hope for is that one by one, group by group, you come out of the shadows and stand together, no longer allowing your health, your self, or your power to be diminished to spare the expense of a production. 

Be brave together.