Astrology, numerology, and all in between have stirred more curiosities rather than lull me into a sense of ease about the future. I know, deep down, that it will be good and that there is light at the end of the tunnel, but, good God, am I exhausted from the trials that are supposed to assist in getting to that light.

I truly yearn for the bright future that I know is to arrive someday, and what keeps me going most every day now is that it will be here. Precisely when? I do not know. But it will.

Being an eldest daughter, being a Black and Mexican woman, and being high functioning, I know that there is the unspoken pressure to keep it all together and keep pushing through like I always do. There have been many incidents, traumas, and wounds from years past that still have yet to come to the surface. I fell gravely ill in 2024, and it served as a wake-up call to start prioritizing myself, my needs, and my wants. It has been an isolating, yet beautiful, journey. Large-scale realizations, bonds slipping, and signs from above to change direction have shaped me so rapidly within a year and a half, and I still have yet to process so much.

I have realized that the past 18 months have consisted of deep personal grief. The life I was expected to have, the life I desire yet must begin anew, changes in this body, this vessel, the bonds I thought that I would have forever, the invisible timeline that has shifted as I desperately try to cling to some form of certainty. What I have noticed is that I have been navigating and unpacking, essentially, my whole life up to this point, releasing emotions pent up since the early days. As tired as I am of crying on what feels like a daily basis, I know that this was so very necessary.

2025 was the Year of the Snake. A time for shedding, evolving, and changing. This year has felt like countless releases of a multitude of feelings, and becoming much louder, much more assertive, and much aware of all. Cathartic, but needed.

2026, Year of the Horse. I was born during the Year of the Horse back in 2002. Part of me feels as though this is significant, for the better, and as though all will fall into place.

I need it to.

Please, God/Universe/Entity Up There, I need it to.

I think towards the countdown. I know that tears will be shed. I beg the beyond to bring me peace. The softness. The hope. The redemption.

Of course, not all of the past few years have been me wallowing in despair. I have been receiving glimpses of my purpose. Returning to dance. Creating choreography. Performing on stage. That is where I feel closest to the beyond. The highest joy. The purpose. The reason that I am here. I have been sowing seeds, acting on ideas, and returning to being grounded in such purpose when I need that sense of ease. There are plenty of ideas that I have, growing more vivid and clear as each day goes by.

My grandest hope is that, although jumping into the unknown, I learn to no longer survive, but thrive. As fearful as I may be in regard to leaving the familiar behind, there is purpose in being called to greater. We all are.

For those of you who dread the idea of an annual reset and heading straight into uncharted territory, please know that I hope that your days of survival will be beyond you, and that you may thrive. No matter what 2026 may hold, cling to that vision of your highest self to help you get through each day.

Something has always felt “different” within me. People have always made comments in regard to me being an old soul, a quietly confident individual, something that they feel compelled to watch. Granted, this is not to serve as a narcissistic take, but rather one of comfort and assurance. I have always gravitated to the performing arts, admiring the greatest presences in entertainment, the innovators. What is something that was a common trace for these individuals? Feeling different from the jump. People always felt an indescribable feeling upon meeting them and seeing them do what they do. The quiet powerhouses. The deep thinkers. The ones who asked “why not?”

From a social standpoint, I have always found myself to be more on the quiet side (at least in person). Sensitive, introverted, creative, and, to be frank, awkward. Perhaps there could be some undiagnosed patterns within, but I have always found myself as one to step back and observe. To enjoy and admire, without always participating. Childhood memories of mine, when it comes to the social traditions of playground chants and games, always take me back to observing rather than doing. It’s strange, but I can step back into where I was, and what people around me were doing, while I watched and absorbed.

Needless to say, I wasn’t one to stand at a window and watch the world go by. I loved to create, I loved to move, I loved the little things that were often overlooked. I was never someone pulled to the side and instructed to go play, or to go talk to people.

Truth be told, I wanted to be able to effortlessly jump into a group setting and feel like I was like everyone else, so much so that it became a source of emotional strife and something that I deeply internalized from childhood to adulthood. For me, jumping into the conversation, or attempting to, was, and still can be, a situation that leads me to feel more comfortable observing and soaking in knowledge, be it deep insight or passive.

I know that perception is an essence of human nature. I do it, you do it, everyone does. The weight of external perception is not mine to bear, and life does feel much lighter with the release of that. Knowing that you may not be palatable to all is essential to stepping into your higher power and allowing for life to elevate.

People realize that you have your avenues and that you are a powerhouse in a certain respect. Perhaps that intimidates them or is a cause for deeper reflection for themselves, but that is not your mess to clean up. Simultaneously, it is possible to want to be able to relate to the masses, to have the same drive for the pleasures that are glamorized in adolescence and adulthood. Try as I may, but I was never one to feel inclined to be in a club, to have crushes and hookups, to do all of the things that my teens and twenties are “supposed” to be for.

There is a sense of sadness that can wash over with that realization. As much as I would like to knock experiences and attributes off my checklist to have mass appeal/blend in, the forcefulness of attempting such feels disingenuous. The things that I find myself gravitating to are often of a bygone era, or experiences where only a select few people can meet me.

Perhaps, this is where the artistry comes in.

Creatives are the people who I find myself feeling a sense of home in. Dancers, writers, actors, artists, singers, instrumentalists, poets, everyone with a deeper touch on life. My ideal social gatherings? Art markets, live performances, seeing new talent emerge, and getting inspired. I feel like I step into a different dimension in which I feel that I do not need to try excessively hard, nor do I have to resign and allow autopilot to take over. Oddly enough, these people are just like me, with a drive, an admiration for simple pleasures, and enjoying what new visions the human mind can conjure.

In spaces like this, I feel that my own creativity is nourished and not something that is to be let go of and left in the past. Conversations flow like water. Support feels genuine. It’s practically primal. It’s home for me.

Often times, I cannot help but ponder what the universe has in store for me. Will I be just like the greats that I watch with stars in my eyes? The level is debatable, albeit unknown, but there is a quiet assurance in knowing that they are my people. That my abnormalities can be a sign of being destined for greater, for higher. That none of the late nights pondering, in distress, and trying to figure out “why,” were ever in vain.

There’s a simultaneous sense of melancholy and joy that blend together here. Feeling so incredibly different from the masses, yet being assured that there is something out there for you. Perhaps that’s the price for stepping into your greatness that is designed specifically for you.

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Eternally inspired by the posts and outspokenness of dancers like Melody Mennite, Georgina Pazcoguin, and Carmina Ballesteros, I look to the fact that they are unafraid to challenge those in power within their own companies. As of a 2022 study, 71 percent of the 50 most prominent ballet companies in the United States are run by male artistic directors. 29 percent, on the other hand, are under the artistic direction of women. While this is a field of creatives and performers who utilize their bodies as their instruments, the gender gap and patriarchal reign are as staggering as that you would see in corporate America.

Ironically, many would associate a ballerina with being delicate, poised, fragile, and effeminate by nature. Granted, the diverse range of genders and identities within companies is beautiful, yet men, still, have the final say from up at the top. With all honesty, I understand now why it has taken so long to see more physical changes in the body types in the industry on large company stages (and we know how passionately I have advocated for such in countless other posts and in day-to-day life). The male gaze is ever-so upon us, henceforth Eurocentric and difficult-to-attain beauty standards in ballet are the same as they have been for decades ("Thanks, Balanchine," ad sarcasm). Men are still making the decisions and setting standards for companies predominantly comprised of women.

Going back to the default depiction of what a ballerina appears to be, there are also traits that allow for greater realization as to what practices are inflicted upon dancers to this day. Beautiful. Soft. Delicate. Docile. Submissive. Passive. Complicit. The expectation, especially in pursuit of physical and performance perfection, is that dancers comply with everything that they are told, never question, lack autonomy, nor even dare voice an opinion or disagreement. God forbid one ever acted on that because that would be instant ground for body-shaming, physical violence, firing, and so forth.

While I have not been a part of a professional setting and still aspire to be a part of such for the greater good, I can only utilize the experiences of other professionals who have voiced their stories of being positively rebellious. To know that a comment or disagreement can cost someone their job as well as potentially being blackballed in the industry for being "too difficult" only fires me up all the more. Truly, I love it when female dancers challenge their male directors to only garner more support for their cause and the betterment of the industry. That's the part of risking everything to bring what is right to the forefront. Being combative and difficult, especially in a patriarchal industry, is a badge to be worn with pride, as I feel that this is indicative of the potential for accountability to be held over these male directors, and to even see a shift in the amount of them in leadership positions. The perception of purity and daintiness being able to be flipped on a dime is a marvel. I think that we ought to, collectively, channel that.

In America, the term “plus-size” is applicable to those who are around tag size 14-18 and beyond. It’s baffling how in ballet, a size 2 automatically deems you as “plus-size.” Walking into a pre-professional or professional class would make you a revolutionary, where you would, allegedly, stick out like a sore thumb. Walking out, on the other hand, many would look to you as their “goal.” So begins this relentless inner question that most, if not all, dancers, and most, if not all, people encounter… “Am I too big?” Truthfully, answers vary from person to person. At the end of the day, one group continues to be at the receiving end of all of this, actual plus-sized people.

Corrections can, and should, exist in the studio without degrading larger bodies. “I can see your lunch,” “Suck it in,” “No one wants to see that stomach.” When comments like that are thrown upon thin dancers, fatphobia is even further perpetuated in and out of the studio. Honestly, with the consideration of how deeply rooted these comments are, I wonder as to how many dancers are willing to confront fatphobia and body shaming, and recognize how wrong and outdated this perpetuated culture is? I, also, wonder how many dancers continue to internalize fatphobia, looking at their larger counterparts and thinking “Well, thankfully, I’m not you.” How this bigoted culture in ballet is still in effect, I can’t help but imagine how many dancers visualize themselves to be larger, and, in turn, cause more harm to marginalized bodies.

Everyone’s insecurities present themselves differently, let alone all of us have them. While they are not invalid, there needs to be a point in which you realize how harmful the outward vocalization of these views can be detrimental to others. As someone who has lived in a larger body, I cringe as I recall hearing my extremely thin counterparts exclaim “Oh, I’m so fat!” While also someone with previous experience with severely disordered eating, I understand how these disordered patterns and mental behaviors can affect us, but it is extremely damaging and stigmatizing towards people who receive the brunt of discrimination. Of course, never to invalidate one’s emotions, but comments as such are the reason as to why actual plus-sized bodies have faced so much hate and discrimination in society.

It’s quite given that no one is perfect, and that we must hold others accountable, as well as ourselves. Realizing that the narratives inflicted onto us by directors, teachers, peers, and ourselves are not acceptable, by any means, is crucial. As dancers, we want to radiate, empower, and uplift audiences, yet we do the complete opposite by contributing to further marginalizing larger bodies (as well as races, identities, ages, and then some, but that’s another story for another day). When another dancer in the studio is told to lose weight to look better on stage, will the rest of the class counter a harmful request? Will dancers correct and inform their peers when making jokes about being “so fat” because they nourished their bodies and ate lunch between class, rehearsal, and show time? Will dancers in a position to teach an aspiring talent turn away a student for the fact that they do not “fit the mold?” Even outside of a dance setting, will dancers make time to educate themselves on how prevalent fatphobia is as a general system?

The ballet industry needs to come to the realization that a size 2 dancer on stage is not the end of the world, and that the enhancement of such could come from hiring and including dancers far beyond that size to begin with. When we act like a dancer who has thighs that touch, bulging muscles, and/or an upper torso with a seamless transition from pelvis to chest is so “revolutionary” is a double edged sword. Again, it may be so within our industry, but it is a true slap in the face to bodies who are continuously shamed for existing. While this progress is important, we could be doing so much more at such a quicker pace.

In the summer of 2023 alone, I stepped out of my ballet bubble and fell deeply in love adoration with theatre arts. Truth be told, the way that actors are able to convey a story with the inclusion of additional senses and facets that we dancers do not get to use is a feat that invites inspiration. Admittedly, the amount of time that I have spent observing the extent of facial and bodily projection that some of the greatest actors have utilized is far more than I could ever admit. Nonetheless, the beautiful transition post-curtain call from character to a human being is a matter of night and day that deserves so much more applause than a standing ovation could give. How one actor can be the complete and utter opposite of the character that we have come to love, hate, or be inexplicably drawn to is a testament to the greatness of theatre itself.

The interconnectivity of the human mind to music is one to marvel at. No matter what one follows, there is no denying that the human experience is enhanced by music, on paper, in one's ear, no matter the case. Perhaps there is bias within, given my personal nearness to musicians, yet one cannot help but know what, sonically, aligns with their own mind. What stories are played or sung in such a level of spiritual alliance, what events or stories play out in the mind due to a multitude of musical facets, or a vision that comes to the forefront upon hearing a song. Personally, a high amount of accreditation and admiration is due from dance to music, for the pair are divine. We dancers choreograph and improvise beautiful pieces as derived from beautiful pieces of yet another discipline. Music provides a pathway that allows ease of moving through life, figuratively and literally.

Being able to immerse yourself into an installation, seeing works on canvas, through clay, and countless other mediums is an enriching experience. You never know what a singular idea visualized onto some medium can bring. Experiencing stories through colors has been such an immersion, so much so that visual art can be the first thing to come to mind when hearing a song, walking through life, or reacting to news. Truthfully, there’s a way to interpret life, and art is the best that there is. I wholeheartedly feel that learning to create, no matter what that looks like, is pivotal in shifting our societies for the better.

Slow down and look at the accumulated words on this page. You’re able to develop a comprehension and understanding of what I’m saying. I’m not physically before you, speaking. Written word is a true safe space. You can go on and on with your thoughts and stories here, without needing to worry if one is listening. From writer to reader, someone is paying attention, eager to learn and receive. Writers are free to think and express, and no matter if or when someone happens to read, the act of releasing inner thoughts and imaginations is quite incomparable.

Creativity is quite a saving grace, and the willingness for an artist of one discipline to seek to appreciate the others can only enhance the appreciation and performance of what they do themselves. While it is not obligatory to know the ins and outs of how to read music if you’re a dancer, or how to act if you’re an author, or how to sing if you’re a painter, the act of appreciating the level of effort that each places into making a discipline such a beautiful thing can uplift us all.

It's the start of a new year, and we see messages everywhere on that "New Year Transformation" that we all "need" to hop on to. This rhetoric, ultimately, hasn't even been a matter of 2025 exclusively, but a more mainstream desire that has recently risen in the recent year and a half. Presently, It seems that everyone is on a weight-loss/change-your-body kick (admittedly, I am as well), be it through a variety of means.

Health, undeniably, is important, especially as dancers, as we are athletes. Nonetheless, the messaging and approach to how all are going about this is rather concerning. Arguably, I will say that health and weight loss are not mutually exclusive, so the collective idea of "getting skinny" is a pretty dangerous overarching message.

No matter the avenues that one is taking to lose weight, it is very easy for people with eating disorders, or recovering, to slip through the cracks. With common means of undereating, appetite suppression, caloric deficits, and calorie counting being mainstream and acceptable, it is incredibly easy to slip back into those habits on your own without documenting gym progress/how-to's or having medication to back up the rationale. Because with a slow progression into a full-blown relapse, the common reaction of "You look amazing, what are you doing?" will only feed into these intentional patterns and domino into collective physical and mental damage. Ultimately, someone in relapse would blend in with medication effects on the face, as goes for attaining dramatic effects on their own.

In dance, we shame what the general public sees as the "goal" body for being "too big." Nonetheless, in this industry, there will continuously need to be advocacy for marginalized bodies. Actual marginalized bodies. While there are people in larger bodies who are accepting, neutral, and empowered in their current bodies, there are some of us who would like to change.

Personally, I have had to really assess, reflect, and be incredibly mindful of how I go about what I am doing in terms of changing my body. As someone who has had experience with disordered eating, I do need to be disciplined in not allowing myself to slip into harmful patterns, thought processes, and behaviors. Have I slipped in? Yes. Is it possible to come out of it? Yes. To anyone looking to change their bodies in dance, do ask yourself if this is originating from a matter of how you look in the mirror, and to others, or if this is a matter of strength, improving your technique, and/or how you perform.

A close friend mentioned, "Without body acceptance, there is no body positivity." No matter what I do, I know that I will be in a body that is marginalized in dance (and in the general public) by being short, Black, Hispanic, and curvy. I cannot help my genetics, nor can I change that, no matter how much weight I may lose. Ultimately, larger bodies do exist, and it is so important to respect them and make a safe space for them in our industry.

While we ride the wave of a new standard, as these are ever-changing, do know that you are not obligated to give in if you are content in your body, and if you do, be intentional with your reasoning. Skinny is not the equivalent of health, and the reverse applies as well. For those who may find all of this rhetoric triggering or overwhelming, do be reminded that you are safe to step away and protect your mental health. There is autonomy in deciding what to do with the body you're in. Do take care of it.

Given my adventures in restarting my dance journey, I have grown more and more immersed in the adult ballet community. The thing is, there is such a wide variety of ages with who is starting, restarting, and furthering current knowledge. Simultaneously, the high level of passion and dedication that stands is inspiring, no matter who is standing next to you at the barre. Admittedly, I’ve been in positions in which I’ve been kicking myself for taking a three-year hiatus. At 21, I should, traditionally, be in an apprenticeship or trainee program by now. I was a Level 6, a pre-professional, in my home studio. Three years may not look like much on paper, but every day is critical in an aspiring professional dance setting.

“I wish that I stayed in ballet, but x, y, and z,” floods so many comments under Instagram reels of favorite classical variations. Nonetheless, so many people are rediscovering the art form and finding that they have a willingness to go all in as well. The two ladies in class with me in London referred to themselves as “grandmothers,” yet held such a high level of drive and sought greater understanding. The questions that they asked even had me constantly checking myself to alter my own technique for the better. Adult students should not be counted out in terms of professional career potential. The level of maturity and drive, as said by another influential teacher, is often higher than young children and teens. Career opportunities are happening for people restarting dance at a later age, which gives me simultaneous high faith.

Even though this community is moving like a wave, I feel that the scope and size of such is influenced by greater diversity movements that are being brought into the professional scene on and off stage. That being said, the influence and rebirth of ballet to its well-deserved popularity stems from professionals and aficionados bringing meaningful presence and conversation to the forefront. We need dancers of different races, body types, so on and so forth. So to speak, it’s as if that “permission” thereby allowed so many people to take up the art form again. While bigoted elitists still run rampant in a professional setting, the fact that the adult community is growing and driven means that quite a lot is happening, hopefully sooner than later. Nonetheless, the collective agreement that ballet is timelessly invigorating is fact for those that choose to give it a go and are called to it. Not for just a select few, just in general.

I truly do hope that the adult ballet community continues to grow. Be it leisure or for a professional track, it’s exciting to have people of my age cohort and others that can understand what I feel. Essentially, the conversations around change and enjoyment of dance are not only for children and teens, but are well on the way to also becoming “grown folks’ business.” I love how there’s finally a space to unapologetically and freely go after what I want and not feel alone in this, as others across the board are discovering a community to do the same.

As much as us current and former dancers can make fun of our own trauma, it’s incredibly twisted that this is a collective experience. Digs at our bodies are individually processed at different extremes. While teachers have wanted to build grit, and can, great technique and success can be attainable without corrections belittling larger body types. Oddly enough, through stories, many dancers have opened up about having a strenuous relationship with self-correction in the studio mirrors. Of course, we are perfectionists, drilling steps in over and over again. The caveat? Using the appearance of our bodies as a scare tactic to change ourselves, thinking that we’d be much better dancers. If I can perfectly perform a step as is, would that execution truly improve if I were 20 pounds lighter within a month, or would I just be appeasing outdated eyes not even worth appeasing to begin with?

Looking back, having jumped back into ballet full force this past year, I can finally stand to take a barre spot up close and personal with the mirror. Perhaps it’s because of a fiercely ignited passion, or the increasing diversity and collective drive of this next generation of dancers, or being in a classroom setting where diversity actually rolls around, but I cannot keep my eyes off of how well I execute a step. Are my rotators engaged? Am I fully articulating through my feet and straightening my knees? Is my torso in alignment? Could I make this next repetition better by tenfold and so on? Notice how none of these corrections have to do with the color of my skin, my bust, my hips, my short stature, or naturally pronated arches. This is progress. This is what leads to success.

In the years in my previous studio, I would always take the barre spot as far from the mirror as possible. In center, I would keep my gaze on anyone but myself, watching the favorite students, following their methods in combinations. When you stick out so much for being a mold-breaker, lasting way longer than anticipated, you catch some strange looks and comments from a privileged and favored group of dancers and instructors. Sure enough, we would all catch “corrections” to suck in our stomachs, not letting our lunch be visible on our bodies, not letting our butts be visible.

Yes, what we do is difficult and not for the faint of heart. With the high caliber of work needed to advance to the next level of a dancer, you need to be driven enough to put in the effort, drilling and perfecting. As someone who has endured the “tough love” teaching method, I feel that I have seen the good, bad, and ugly, growing from it all, and still willing to say what’s wrong with these methods. Former professionals are cultivating the next generation with corrections that alter how we, as dancers, feel towards our reflections enough to garner discipline to better ourselves in practice. It’s working. It’s truth. It’s beneficial. Technique can soar and grow while granting students the ability to make friends with the mirror. Discipline amidst respect is attainable, and I can’t wait until the day that our collective dance bonding reels do not consist of joking at our traumas.

Like letters, calligraphy, and craftsmanship, swing dancing is truly a lost art. Little did I know that people my age felt the way that I did. Truly, nothing was more redeeming and fulfilling than to connect with gifted and passionate dancers that loved to dress up and go social dancing in community centers and historic hotel lobbies every week. Ultimately the weight of the responsibility we carry is one to be mindful of, especially when you realize that older generations have carried swing dancing. Our generation is the one that gets to learn from our elders, who can still carry East Coast, Charleston, and Lindy Hop like no other, I must say. Mind you, social dancing was a major part of their upbringing, and it’s mind-boggling to see how that act has evolved. Granted, nightlife has a wide variety of audiences that it can appeal to now, but the fact that most people knew how to dance at such a high caliber back then just goes to show that there are so many talented people you can learn from that one might not even realize. You would have a group of college-age kids paired up with sixty, seventy, and eighty-somethings on the dance floor, teaching and offering pointers for swing-outs and open Charleston. That’s truly something special. They lived through one of the peaks of social dancing way back when, and they still hold such near and dear.

From a dancer’s standpoint, swing is, truly, a genre where creativity and fun do get to shine through. Interestingly enough, the jazz dance genre has so many avenues in which that freedom can get diluted, especially in a precise, drill-like setting. Swing is so far from sterilized that when you get out on the floor, no two runs, even if choreographed, are the same. Improvisation is invited. The steps and rhythms are, essentially, a simple pattern, so the possibilities to throw in your own style grow as you commit those rhythms to memory. Look at videos of swing dancers, then and now. “Rock-step, triple-step, step-step, triple-step,” can take on so many forms, and that’s the beauty of it. A phrase that one of my swing mentors had heard that was, ultimately, passed down to me was that “jazz is gonna jazz,” and it’s true. There are so many elements in the music itself that you’re encouraged to get into that your dancing flows so well.

Perhaps I’m attributing this to restarting my dance journey by going back to basics in ballet a year ago, but finding the foundations in dance has been so rewarding and eye-opening. When you’ve been down so many avenues at a rapid-fire pace as a dancer, you don’t realize what you’re missing out on. Stepping back and restarting has given me the opportunity to grow the most, as I feel, by being able to understand the foundations through an older, more mature, set of eyes. Knowing where and how it all started, and putting that in practice, just makes you feel an attachment and deeper adoration for dancing.

Truth be told, learning how to swing dance has been such a full-circle experience not only as a performer, but socially. Having people in my community who could enjoy and appreciate the way that previous generations of musicians and dancers worked together, finding a way to synchronize with that, and find joy in that learning process sent me, mentally, to a little speakeasy in Harlem, feeling that closeness with an era that seems reminiscent of home. It felt carefree, enjoyable, and purposeful. Interestingly enough, the swing community is growing, especially within my age group. If people are willing to connect to foundations in dance, I know that we won’t let this genre become a memory.

When progressing, you are always adding so much more to your plate as a dancer, more intricate steps, longer routines, extra rotations, so on and so forth. I’ve experienced this, and I’m sure that plenty of other dancers have been in the same boat. As few of us care to admit, we tend to focus on perfecting the newer and better aspects of our repertoire to the extent in which we go through the motions that are “standard” or “mundane” in order to get to the steps that are more challenging and excitement-inducing. Nevertheless, we overlook how enjoyable, yet difficult, a combination at the barre can be. Returning to a beginner’s perspective gave me a newfound appreciation for the slightest details, ensuring that my body is entirely attentive with every single motion.

As we progress as dancers, it’s so dire to not relinquish the mindset of continued growth, even when executing steps we’ve done before. Taking a beginner class is far more of an advantage than a hindrance. Truth be told, the day that I took hold of the barre in January was the day that I came to realize that I needed to start from the bottom yet again. First position began to feel increasingly different, then second, then so on and so forth. Different doesn’t equate to being a bad thing, therefore I felt challenged in the best way possible. The level of engagement and focus that I needed to channel within my body felt far more elevated than prior, all due to the fact that I was open to relearning as a means of improvement.

The human mind works in mysterious ways, specifically with an unintentional, subconscious interjection of the ego. We can often feel as though we are in the clear after having advanced and progressed from the previous level, so much so that we definitely would not need to revert back to what we previously learned. Knowing how to do a step is not, necessarily, enough. There is a huge difference in doing something as opposed to doing that something well, and complacency is a determining factor that I learned to kick in the process of restarting. There is always something that can be improved on, no matter how many times we have put that into practice, be it any discipline.

Despite the physical challenge that is restarting something as difficult as ballet, there is an equal mental counterpart. In this industry, there is a preconceived hurry to get to a professional company, yet that doesn’t serve well if you haven’t changed up the habits you have held since being at a “lower” level. Adding some new level of muscle engagement, thought process, and artistry can all stem from not harboring shame towards going back to a step as if you are first learning it. The insight of an instructor, or many, for that matter, can add something new to expand that level of performance. Each dancer, however, has a choice to make; are they, themselves, willing to go back to the basics?

Admittedly, I auditioned for a prestigious high school’s dance program in my home city. Us eighth graders, already in a performing and visual arts middle school, were scrambling, the vast majority of us looking to jump to the next level. Granted, I was honed in on visual art and choir as to try something new, yet still dancing full-force right outside of that. Many auditioners in the dance department had the upper hand in terms of appearance, as racial barriers had been long-dropped in the school (yet bias can, and does, occur under any institution), but their body types as well. Height and weight were a critical part of the audition process, with bigoted costume practices in place as well. If you could not fit into a pair of tights that were housed in stock at the high school, or if you dared tear them, you could be dropped from the show or the program altogether. For me, a heavier-set child at the time, it is safe to imagine the fear and discouragement that ran through me at the thought of auditioning altogether. My friends would chime in about the toxicity and outdated ideals of this dance program as I sat with them at lunch, voluntarily not touching a thing in my lunch bag that wouldn’t lead to me shedding pounds, or skipping out altogether (then binging at home, falling into despair over eating in general or what I ate, the whole shebang). They were right. Even going in for my audition, not a word or comment was mentioned about my measurements, but I knew that the preference was definitely there. No, I did not get accepted.

Perhaps this rejection was a blessing in disguise. I was able to reconnect with dance in a whole new community at the high school that I ended up going to. Diversity was okay, all across the board. Not only that, but diversity was something to be proud of. Honestly, being stifled from that notion during my studio years would not have given me the love for dance that I have now. If things worked out in which I were accepted into this school, would I have fallen into greater self-deprecation? Would I have continued to feel like an outlier like I had when surrounded by wealthy, thin, white girls who could feed into this professional path with ease outside of the physical work that this field, undeniably, takes? Nonetheless, the ugly filtration system that was a part of this audition process could only maintain and uphold the bubble of a dying ideal, and it is so exciting to see more and more action taken to finish this once and for all.

When the NYC Human Rights Law went into effect on November 26th, 2023, I felt a sense of hope that I had not felt before. Admittedly, I felt like a little girl receiving the affirmation, confirmation, and validation that her desires are attainable. The law states that “The NYC Human Rights Law protects individuals that live in, work in, or visit New York City from discrimination based on their height or weight or the combination of height and weight, referred to as ‘body size.’” Hallelujah. Many dance industry activists took to social media to discuss this milestone, and I read and watched in elated disbelief. Sure enough, many took to the comments to spew hate towards aesthetics in dance now being “ruined” by this law. I am sorry that I am not going to feel sorry for the Karens in the audience who are appalled that they are going to have their bubbles burst at a potential mid-sized or, gasp, plus-sized dancer in a pas de deux. Are their ticket purchases going to a, gasp, company who can no longer contribute to the idea that dance is solely to be performed by the thin, white, wealthy elite? Are they really about to have diversity that is expanding into body types as well as race and identity on a top performance stage? Blasphemous.

For the ultimate performing arts capital to enact a law like this that will benefit the general public by expanding non-discriminatory policies is such a breath of fresh air. Starting at the very top can only help this necessary change in ideals and policies trickle down to the bottom. Hopefully aspiring dancers can focus on sharpening their skill come audition season as opposed to a panicked hyperfixation on the scale. Hopefully judges will begin to observe technique as opposed to dismissal at first glance. Hopefully the normalization and welcoming of actual human beings outside of a very, very, small mold into the dance world can finally begin.

To learn more about the NYC Human Rights Law, please see the link below.

https://www.nyc.gov/site/cchr/media/height-and-weight.page#:~:text=Overview,to%20as%20%E2%80%9Cbody%20size.%E2%80%9D

Being a mixed woman of Black and Hispanic descent, it is no secret that my skin is far contrasting from the soft, even peach, tones of tights that I had to wear growing up. Where dress code is concerned, the only changing factor was the color of my leotard as I moved about the ranks of expertise. Ironically, nude or black tights were perfectly suitable for modern, jazz, or any other genre. Only once I had hit the highest possible rank in the studio while studying ballet was I allowed to wear all black, both leotard and tights. As the same can be said for the color of pointe shoes throughout history, a dancer’s attire was to be an extension of their body, matching such tonality to skin that always held privilege and majority within the industry. Stepping into such light tights prior to class had made me feel as though I was someone that I was not. With an arm in second position in a tendu devant, looking into the mirror, the stark contrast between my bare arm and leg was unmistakable. With the tights bunching into my shoes, I could look down and feel oddly out of place as to how pale these things appeared on me. Truth be told, I loved being able to sneak and roll my tights up past my ankle to feel some natural connection from my leg to the floor. Allowing dancers of color to not have to conform to a dress code that doesn’t honor the skin they’re in could work wonders. The level of focus and ease of anxieties towards being in the studio would call for a much simpler flow of grace, passion and overall presence.

Having stumbled upon a recent reel on Instagram, I cannot help but feel sympathy for dancers who have been made to feel inadequate and like a stranger in their bodies by wearing pale tights. “They’re gross and I hate them,” says dancer Carmina Ballesteros. Honestly, no truer words have been spoken. Casting judgemental glances onto George Balanchine for his history of shaming his dancers for not being slim enough, I hear her state how her own instructor had pushed weight loss onto dancers for the fact that pink tights would be worn, thus adding an illusion of additional heaviness onto their bodies. It’s no secret how the ballet industry lacks bodily inclusivity, yet statements and practices as aforementioned only make it easier to believe how backwards it still is in this day and age. To each their own in terms of what they wear in correlation with confidence, yet do not force someone to wear what makes them feel shame in their body. If one likes wearing pale dance attire, so be it. If wearing flesh-toned attire is more empowering, so be it. How a dress code aims to create a universal look in a world that is anything but constant, universal, or standard is highly improper in fashion. As dancewear manufacturers begin to expand upon their shades of clothing and shoes, studios must meet them where they are, creating a safe space for diversity to flourish within the walls.

With this newfound spotlight on ballet, pushing the idea that daintiness, grace, and beauty are not exclusive to a singular look or demographic is so important if the art is to remain alive for generations to come. The aesthetic of what a ballerina looks like is to vary from person to person, savoring and uplifting the beauty in shades that are far from the irrational, bigoted, “conventional” standard pitched for so many years. I can’t wait to see what “ballet-core” looks like for Black and brown individuals who are pulled into the discipline that is, undeniably, uplifting in practice and action.

I think of artists in other disciplines, and think about how their ability to perform often goes unchallenged for having tattoos on their bodies. For actors, I know that there is a level of complexity when it comes to directors allowing for tattoos to be seen on screen or not. Alas, makeup artists come into play to cover up as needed, put on prosthetics, so on and so forth. In dance, I look at how different genres stack up to one another. Of course, ballet holds a complexity in giving “permission” to express oneself. The color of a dancer’s skin, let alone how much is adorning the body is a battle being fought alone. At the same time, I am seeing more and more ballet dancers putting their tattoos on display. Seeing my favorite professionals’ posts on Instagram, my eye goes to markings, not of sweat, blood, and hard work, but of ink that showcase individuality and autonomy. As Melody Mennite stated, we are in an extremely visual profession, so getting tattooed is a true act of self empowerment in the face of needing to appear to be these mystical, ethereal, graceful beings. Truthfully, adding our own stories to our bodies can only add to the beauty and mystique of us dancers.

Personally, I find it beautiful to see and learn what inspired someone to go as far as to ink their bodies. More often than not, there’s a highly unique story that coincides, be it sentimental or just out of enjoyment. I’d love to be able to do that for myself. For people to see a sunflower or red cardinal on my forearm, it would mean a lot to be able to explain how it serves as a connection to my beloved grandfather who I know would still support me in this endeavor. When someone asks about what Prince’s symbol is doing on my wrist, I would love to hold a talk about his legacy and how he inspired my return to dance, as well as my values as an artist, let alone how much I admire him and his work. If eyes ever fell on the phrase “I love you more” on my ribcage, I would explain how I adopted the saying from Michael Jackson, who I also love so dearly. As goes for scattered messages and symbols of different ballets and musicals that have struck me, like how the lyrics to “Wait for It” from Hamilton had picked me up from my lowest points time and time again. To be able to have those stories marked on me can commemorate how and why I am who I am, as well as how they have influenced me as an artist as well. As a dancer, you can always look back on your own experiences to bring them to the stage, and the ones you physically on you make things even more full circle.

Professionalism shouldn’t ever be marred by one’s choice to show what makes them who they are, especially when it comes to tattoos. My artistry, athleticism, and passion will not diminish because of lines and phrases on my skin. What we, as dancers, do are feats of greatness and hard work, and we’re still ethereal and powerful beings no matter, and with full matter, of what marks we choose to permanently wear. As long as you do your job, and well, professionalism will look different on everyone, thus the arguments in regard to ink, hair, and so on have never made a lick of sense.

Truth be told, I, myself, needed to hear and say this to validate my own wants for my personal appearance as a human being and dancer. Piercings a plenty, balayage on my hair, and I still know how to move and exist as an artist. Even for those of you still conflicted and struggling, yearning to physically show significant parts of what shape your story, know that professionalism is open-ended, and that if you’re doing what you need to, efficiently, sitting in that chair and letting the ink glide is more than okay.

Traditionally, in ballet, the outdated ideal for lithe, waif-like female and femme-presenting bodies persists to this day. So much so, directors, teachers, and dancers themselves can, and do, push narratives against strength training outside of class as a means of ensuring this standard. Realistically, does it make sense to push dancers to refrain from helping develop the abilities of their bodies, develop greater endurance, and prevent injury? In a healthy, appropriately-managed company, time for the gym and strength training would be designated and allowed.

Personally, after having undergone a deeply anxious and low episode in February 2022, prior to restarting my dance career, the gym became a saving grace. Lifting weights, climbing steps, and utilizing machines provided a newfound level of mental clarity, elevated endurance, and a high level of physical strength. As I incorporated dance into my life again, every movement felt more natural and less of a matter of whether or not I had the stamina to do so. Flexibility and balance became behaviors that did not have a question of whether or not I could do this attached. Ultimately, passion and time dedicated to strengthening my body outside of the dance studio led to my growth, and I have faith that the same is a heavenly combination for other dancers.

Rationale towards one’s reasons for going to the gym are not always for reasons of vanity, but for fueling the addiction of improvement, feeling stronger and more capable of doing difficult physical tasks. For dancers, we are constantly striving to improve from each iteration of a step, combination, or piece. Alas, our bodies need to have a moment to feel challenged beyond that of class, and know that this practice is to our benefit. The fear of “bulking up” needs to go, as each individual carries their muscle mass differently, and the overall positive gain of athleticism onstage highly surpasses the stigmatized idea of a rising number on a scale. Becoming a healthier, stronger version of yourself is a massive boost to one’s confidence, and dancing capabilities will follow in quick pursuit.

Truthfully, my love for being in a gym setting provides me with the same level of euphoric joy as being in a dance studio space. Knowing that every motion going through my body, with shakes, sweat, and all, is in the name of betterment as a dancer and longevity in my career is empowering. Being able to hold a retiré at a given moment, or fondu relevé consistently at the barre is that lightbulb moment where everything along the path as a dancer feels increasingly within reach. Yet again, if this is how I feel after working out and applying this strength in class, I hope that other dancers feel motivated to keep chasing that sense of progression, no matter the changes that may appear on their body. The idea of constant improvement is what fuels us, and there is no reason to discourage that.

A program is an empowerment trip for all performers, bound with some staples. Flipping through cast lists, reading up on backgrounds, learning the story of the performance that you are seeing before you, and looking ahead to what’s next just make you feel at one with the industry. That is, until you begin to look at the headshots of the dancers on stage. The men’s portion, admittedly, has begun to grow in terms of company diversity. As goes for women, the amount of Black or brown dancers remains dismal to see amidst others.

Reflecting on the rabbit-holes of company research that I have done since restarting my dance pathway, I came to the realization that I can name the only Black or Hispanic female dancers in professional companies near me by city. In 2024, I find it beyond odd that I can pinpoint 2-3 dancers that identify similarly to me by city. Cities, realistically, have populations in the hundreds of thousands to millions, so when it comes to representation in a ballet company, shouldn’t there be far more than one to two Black or Hispanic female dancers as a reflection of how widely vast a city is?

Mentally placing myself in the position of a professional dancer, Black or Hispanic (or both, in my case), I can imagine how much of a double-edged sword it must be to take the stage each night. On one hand, you turn to your colleagues and are not able to fully relate to them in terms of identity and culture. On the other hand, you get this overwhelming sensation during each performance that you have inspired little Black and Hispanic girls that there is a space on stage for them as well. As heartwarming as it is to be a beacon for minorities in dance, it is also a part of the human condition to know that you are not going through this alone, and want a fellowship of dancers to be a testament to strength in the collective.

Oddly enough, I have noticed that certain professional ballet companies have implemented non-discriminatory policies that are visible to the public. If this is the case, why are company rosters still composed of singular, token, Black and brown female dancers as a means of appearing to be diverse? The process of filtration towards who gets to be a part of the company is quite evident when many of these Black and brown women are on the lighter-skinned spectrum, along with being extremely thin. Perhaps the reality of different skin tones and body types that can, and do, come with being Black or brown intimidates company directors and choreographers to the point in which they select dancers can be as close to the “ideal” ballerina, with being of such a race or ethnicity serving as a bonus in the company’s favor.

Far too many talented, driven dancers are out in this world, and are extremely deserving of spots on professional stages. Growing up as the heavy little Blaxican girl in my studio, I knew that I loved to dance, yet felt out of place. The premise of growing and improving, however, kept me motivated. Thus, I will never forget the sting of one of my thinner, white, peers mentioning “I didn’t even want to be here, but my mom complained to the teacher and I was bumped up to advanced.” Knowing that the hard work that I and the few other minority dancers had put in, to slowly, but surely, move up level by level, could be substituted for complaints and privileges from white dancers and their mothers felt like a slap to the face. This was happening within the walls of a pre-professional studio, thus I think about how it must feel to be a professional, identifying and looking the way I do, wondering how many of my white peers had gotten to this point with bribery as opposed to passion and integrity.

The day that higher-ups in ballet companies are knowledgeable and passionate about reshaping the industry is one that I cannot wait to see. Perhaps more Black and brown girls will finally have their well-deserved spots on stage. Perhaps they will be darker-skinned. Perhaps they will have thighs that touch, a chest that protrudes, or natural curves, all unapologetically. Perhaps they will be able to bun up their braids, locs, twists, or thick curls and waves. Perhaps they will be able to know, without second guessing, that their hard work and determination got them there, not to fill a label to make the company look more socially acceptable to the public. Truly, I cannot wait.

It’s incredibly mind-boggling to me as to how having one, or few, heavier set dancers and/or dancers of color in a studio is cause for redirection, no matter the quality of technique shown. Nothing in this world comes easily, especially within ballet, yet pushing the narrative that “modern/Hip Hop/jazz/tap/musical theatre may be a better fit for you” is a mere act of discouraging potential change-makers to emerge within the industry. When teachers acknowledge the injustices that ballet still is comprised of, why continue to push students away when they could improve to the point at which they could become professionals? Is it protection? Is it prevention of shame? Nonetheless, the act of guiding marginalized students to other genres can lead to sensations of inadequacy or distrust from teacher to student at a young age.

Admittedly, I adore dance in general, yet have felt such a gravitational nearness to ballet through all time. The knowledge of how unkind the industry is towards someone like me, being short, mixed Black and Hispanic, with a simultaneously muscular and curvaceous build, induced a fair amount of doubt, anxiety, and quite more. Nonetheless, knowing that there are so many other aspiring ballerinas on this journey with me, each step feels even better and more purposeful than before. 

Prior to taking a three-year hiatus, I did feel a sense of compulsory expansion into other genres, trying to seek a space to move in which I did not feel subject to scrutiny by my weight, height, and race. I found a secondary sense of home in modern and contemporary, which I still adore to this day, as goes for being drawn towards musical theatre. Ironically, as freeing as these genres feel, I catch myself waiting to turn out as opposed to remaining in parallel, allowing my hands to flow daintily as opposed to holding my fingers together or doing a splayed jazz hand. Being multifaceted and multidimensional is a joy, but you cannot deny knowing what home feels like. 

Back in June of 2023, sitting in the audience of a performance of Wicked, my eyes caught sight of this beautifully engaging, lively, and present plus-sized dancer in the ensemble, Truth be told, I longed to have seen someone like her as I was growing up, so there’s another score point for healing my inner child and younger dancer. As the energy picked up through the number, the ensemble began doing partnered lifts. To witness her being carried, spun, and then some, led to my thoughts instantly shifting back to ballet. She was beautiful, her technique was stellar, and her partner work went off without a hitch. So why do ballet teachers and executives reject the notion of a heavier set dancer performing a pas de deux? It’s ever-so possible, and the realization of the aforementioned, bigoted, notion being a bold-face lie was empowering. 

The thought of this dancer having more than likely heard false narratives as a young dancer made my heart ache for her, but to see her performing so flawlessly within a traveling Broadway musical cast was the most invigorating feeling. To this day, I wonder what she had felt in a ballet setting. Was she redirected towards musical theatre, or was this an act on her own volition? How many other dancers are loving the genre that they are in, but still feel a sense of longing to redirect themselves to ballet after being pushed out by others? Admittedly, if there comes a moment in which I leave ballet, best believe it will be on my own doing, without a nudging hand claiming to know where I would “fit in” better or “what’s best for me.” Seeing the “impossible” become a reality through others, ultimately, keeps that drive running.

From a chat with my best friend to further affirmation from my therapist, it dawned on me how being a dancer has diluted what it means to be in a larger body. How is it that I am such an outlier, an abnormality, and a disruptor for being a short girl with a grand bust at the top and bottom sections of my body in the studio, yet so "fine," "sexy," and "a goddess" when existing outside of it. So presents the question: are you big or are you just dancer big?

Quite telling it is that most, if not all, professional dancers have struggled with body image and self perception, always seeking perfection in craft and appearance. In dance, of course, that means being the strongest, yet slimmest, ironically. From a numeric standpoint, a size 2 has been considered to be "too big" in the ballet realm. Look at this from the outside. When people who have never set foot in a dance studio are doing all in their power to shrink their bodies to a size 2, incredibly small, dancers are being ridiculed, and even fired, for that number.

For the slimmest, smallest people in the outside world to be incredibly large in ballet, imagine how the comments in the studio, in the mirror, and out on the internet from a dancer can land to the general public. How does that rhetoric ripple towards small bodies that just exist? Better yet, how does this rhetoric ripple towards people in actual plus sized, marginalized bodies? Heads up, the perpetuated fatphobia just spirals and spirals.

The "ideal" body shifts from year to year, yet is entirely non existent. From heroin chic to a slim hourglass, a body type does catch a moment as a trend in general (which bodies are definitely NOT). For myself, a size 8, I acknowledge that I fall under the smaller, midsize, umbrella as is. As a dancer, it's mind boggling that my existence is an act of radical protest and standard shattering... yet I am, truly, just a regular human being outside of the studio. I can go into most any store and find clothes that fit, I don't have people side-eyeing me at a restaurant for eating lunch, I don't have people in my Instagram comments telling me how I ought to step into a gym, and I don't hear microagressions on the lines of being attractive "for a big girl."

While I definitely struggle with my own body image issues, I acknowledge that I have far more privileges than people in plus-sized bodies. Nonetheless, when putting myself in a dance space, I need to defend and fight for my right to exist, be present, and participate in my passion. If anything, the most privileged bodies in our society, such as slim size 2-4 folks, would be subjected to the same treatment that I am. Heaven forbid that an actual people in actual plus-sized bodies would show up in a dance, particularly ballet, space and simply exist.

Although I find myself laughing in painstaking relatability at a reel that has made rounds on Instagram (Feeling confident enough to take off my warm-ups in, then the teacher says "I can see your lunch, Maria"), I sit with the reality that the most privileged bodies to the outside world are subjected to fatphobic rhetoric in ballet. Granted, allowing all bodies to exist and be seen in all spaces ought to be normalized and encouraged, there is such a ways to go. There's no reason for someone in a size 2 body to be telling themselves or being told that their bodies are "too big," nor should anyone.

Bigots in dance have got to go, and may their harmful rhetoric leave with them in every possible way. Truly, the day that dancers can learn separate being "dance big" as opposed to considering themselves to be plus sized, putting greater stigma on actually marginalized bodies, or just release all narratives that a body of a certain size not being able to exist in a dance space... may we finally be en route to progress.

Nothing has been more affirming and validating in my existence in the ballet world than to see more and more adults take up the art form that I love so much. To see so many adults drop their 9-5 and relocate as a means of going all in on a passion is incredibly refreshing. Not only is ballet an enjoyable practice to better your physical health, mental health, and discipline at an adult age, but it is also a segue into a performance career in this genre or another. Nonetheless, there should be no means of saying that your "ship has sailed," as an artist, especially if you start later on.

So many changes are happening for the betterment of the industry, and I'm incredibly excited to see it unfold. Spaces for BIPOC dancers, LGBTQ+ stories being told on stage and dancers that challenge the gender binary performing on such, marginalized bodies being able to showcase that dance is not exclusive to a singular body type. Lo and behold, even spaces where dancers are granted performance opportunities at higher ages are starting to formulate in new professional companies. Potentially, these companies will grow and even integrate more widespread and well-known companies as to be an even greater indicator or industry changes.

In ballet, and dance in general, the parallels ring similar to major league sports. You start as young as a child, and, if you're serious about this, go all in and work your way up to being a professional. Granted the physical toll that is, evidently, taken on your body, many retire in their 30s or 40s. Interestingly enough, some adults are going down this road to begin in their mid-late 20s. Commonly, most would assume that a professional opportunity no longer awaits them as limited by age, yet let us not rule this out in entirety just yet.

Adults are coming to the art form from a lens of attentiveness and an eagerness to learn just as much as dancers who begin as children do, if not more so. At this point in time, a grasp on discipline and bodily awareness is further developed. Corrections do not fall on deaf ears as adults in ballet are at a greater capacity to focus, learn, and apply. Truly, coming to the art form on your own volition indicates a passion and genuine curiosity as opposed to an extracurricular that will only last a short period of time. Nonetheless, children are also capable of being struck by passion in the studio and can go on to be professionals, yet adults are also in a high-caliber league of potential.

With discipline, class persistence, and external practice, adults can find success and impeccable technique in ballet, even with a "latecomer" title, be it from fundamentals to pointe. Ultimately, performance and career opportunities need to expand their pool to include adults. Truthfully, learning and performing a variation, beautifully, is not exclusive to a pre-teen at YAGP. The adult ballet community is growing, and with companies starting up for them, it shouldn't be much longer that we have to wait and see latecomer success stories on a professional stage at a large scale.