By Alexa Beck
March 31, 2025
A six-year-old girl walks through a shiny glass door wearing a black leotard and pink tights. She carries a pink bag, an ice-cold water bottle and is immediately greeted by smiling friends dressed the same way. They throw their bags into cubbies and put on ballet shoes.
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One by one, they enter a studio playing classical music and line up at a barre. Soon, their teacher whisks them away into a class filled with beautiful music and wonderful movements, as they learn the art of classical ballet. Each of the students end class filled with joy, a smile beaming across their faces. The little girl returns home awaiting the next day when she will be back in the studio.
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This description is a fantasy. A fantasy that I and many other dancers wish was a reality. I first began dance lessons at the age of three. I lasted approximately two lessons before dropping out because I could not stand being in a studio with unfamiliar faces for a whole hour without my mom. I later got over my separation anxiety and decided at the age of six that I wanted to try lessons again. It was then that my love story with this beautiful art began.
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As the years went on, I took more and more dance classes, and when I was in fourth grade, I was asked to join my dance studio’s competition team. I joined a group of girls, who were also new to competitive dance, and we started to learn our first competition dance.
Our piece was a musical theater routine choreographed by our studio owner’s son, who also happened to be an award-winning choreographer known for his work on “So You Think You Can Dance.” For us, he choreographed a beautiful and whimsical musical theater piece entitled “The Birds and the Bees.” Naturally, we were each dressed as either a bird or a bee. This piece brought me to love the style of musical theater and brought me closer to my fellow dancers in the group.
However, my dance days were not filled with as much joy as the photos of me smiling in my costumes each year portrayed. One negative memory really sticks out to me from my early years: the day my peers and I were negatively compared to one of our fellow dancers.
I had a close friend, Brianne, who I grew up dancing alongside. Brianne was an exceptionally talented dancer, and everyone knew it. She could dance effortlessly, whereas for the rest of us it took effort and time to learn new skills. She was the “perfect dancer” in more ways than one and was the envy of many dancers in our group. I was personally close to Brianne and never found myself jealous of her natural ability. As a peer, I looked up to her in a positive way.
One day, when I was approximately 10 years old, we were all going about our jazz class as usual. We were practicing our skills that allowed us to travel around a space, known in dance as going “across the floor.” All of a sudden, my teacher became upset with the way my class was performing, prompting her to compare us all to Brianne. She angrily told us how
talented and dedicated Brianne was and asked why we weren’t as good as her. She continued to yell at us and say things along the lines of, “Why can’t you all be more like Brianne?”
I just remember thinking how wrong it was to take one girl’s talent and use it to diminish the rest of us. Every single little girl in that room felt belittled, untalented and unworthy. I also vividly remember the look on Brianne’s face: anxious, sad and confused. She was a shy girl by nature, and I could tell she was extremely uncomfortable that our teacher put her in that position. It was all around a horrible experience for every girl in that room, and it is something that has always stuck with me.
This was just one of many negative experiences I had with dance that lowered my self-esteem. Another included being forced to hold a three-minute plank as a punishment for the way we performed a routine in rehearsal. That day I happened to be sick but was forced to attend rehearsal because we had a competition that weekend. Despite the illness, I was still not exempt from the plank hold.
Planks were a frequent “punishment,” whether it was for messing up a routine or being late to class (keep in mind that our parents drove us to class, leaving us little control on what time we arrived). Looking back, I cannot understand why a core exercise would be used as a punishment tactic.
Other instances of harsh treatment included being told that we needed to eat healthier and workout more. My main dance teacher never made any direct comments about our weight, as she was overweight as a child, but I often felt that she wanted us to look skinny. Besides that, I always felt that the dance “world” wanted me to be skinny.
Although I never developed any severe eating problems, I did develop body dysmorphia. I remember thinking my stomach always looked “huge,” especially after I ate. I was as thin as a stick, likely from burning so many calories dancing for hours on end. I cannot believe how distorted my thoughts were.
Today, I still struggle with body dysmorphia. Every day, I stare at myself in the mirror and wish I was smaller. I think the dance culture I was raised in contributed to how I view my body today, and I know many dancers who feel the same way.
An abstract study from the National Library of Medicine concluded that dancers have a three times higher risk of developing an eating disorder (Arcelus 2013). This is a staggering statistic, but one that seems completely accurate to me based on my experiences in the dance community.
Lindsey Howie is the director of dance and an assistant professor of dance at High Point University. In these roles, she has the opportunity to work with many young dancers. She herself can recall what it feels like to be a dance student. Howie says that she has unfortunately seen many dancers who have struggled with disordered eating and body image. She can empathize with these students because it is something she has struggled with.
“I have had several dance teachers that I thought treated me harshly,” Howie said. “Looking back at some of those situations, I realize that they have positively impacted the way I teach. I can remember the way I felt in those situations and would never want to intentionally make one of my students feel that type of negativity in any way.”
I am not the only one who has struggled with harsh treatment by teachers and body issues as a dancer. Yet, I and others continue to choose to dance, despite all the negative consequences. Many would ask, “Why?”
For me, dance was, and in some ways still is, a passion of mine. When you are passionate about something like that, the positives of being able to do what you love far outweigh the bad. You simply face the negative consequences because they are better than the consequences of not doing something you love.
In high school, I finally quit dancing, only because I wanted to pursue theater and join the cheerleading team. If I had stuck with competitive dance, none of these experiences would have been possible, and I would have been in a studio for countless hours each day. I never regretted leaving dance because I had such an amazing experience exploring other things.
I don’t regret the years I spent in dance either. I still use my dance skills to this day. I have performed in plays all throughout high school, and now as a junior in college, I still perform. Dancing in my first competition piece was what sparked my interest in musical theater,
which is now my minor in college. To this day, whether it’s onstage in a musical or at one of my sorority formals with a great DJ, I never miss out on the chance to dance. I may have chosen to end my dance career, but I have not ended my passion for it.
Another positive take away from my many years in dance was gaining amazing friends whom I still stay in touch with to this day. Although I had some unkind teachers, I did receive incredible mentorship from others, some of whom I also stay in touch with. One teacher in particular, Ms. Denise, I considered to be a mother-like figure to me. She taught me so much about dance and about myself, and she always filled our studio with love and kindness.
As is the same with many passions in life, dance is not all good or all bad. It is a double-sided coin, and I believe it is the dancer’s choice which side to flip it to. I choose to flip it to the positive side and remember all the wonderful experiences I had growing up dancing. I don’t forget the negative ones though. Instead, I choose to remember them and use them to learn and better myself.
My time as a competitive dancer ended many years ago, but I still carry the life lessons, friends, skills, stories and experiences that I gained throughout my journey. No matter where I end up in life, dance will always find a place in my heart.