Changing the Narrative
Art by Caitlin Noble
In this life there are certain hats we wear, certain roles we play. Sometimes these roles will contribute a huge amount to the momentum of our lives - how they will unfold and the path that they will follow. This can be seen as positive guidance in many cases. But sometimes, if we so rigidly adhere to their confinements, these roles can close off opportunity by drawing a thick black line across the futures that do not run coherently with theirs.
For a long time, I wore the hat of "DANCER". It was a massive part of my existence for the most part of my life. I am so proud of the years I spent working on my craft. After my training had ended and the structure of day-to-day life as a dancer evaporated, I felt lost. All of a sudden my life's passion was supposed to pay my bills. Shit, essentially, got real.
I think a concoction of things led me to make the decision that I didn't want to dance anymore but still, to this day, it remained a huge part of my identity. I HAD a thing, I HAD worked hard- it just hadn't panned out the way I'd hoped. I felt like I owed myself and all the years I spent sweating in the studio as my teachers shouted: "ONE MORE TIME! A 5, 6, 7, 8" some sort of explanation. To not let the past die or become a forgotten myth. It happened and mostly it was glorious, fulfilling, and fucking exciting. When I met new people I always managed to slip it in - like it was no big deal, "Yeah... you know...I trained as a dancer" with the hope that they might place metaphorical sequins on their perception of me. That was right up until very recently.
As well as being my favourite thing in the world, my passion also took me to darker places. Places where I neglected my body, despite it doing, for the most part, everything I asked of it. I also never checked in to see how my soul was feeling. I spent my days bouncing off of adrenaline, feeding off applause and any praise I could get my hands on.
My training was adorned with both soft hints and gut-wrenching ultimatums that taught me how my body “should” look aesthetically. We would always be congratulated by teachers when we lost weight regardless of the methods we used to do so. I remember, during one period of time in my second year of training, a friend and I were eating a banana for breakfast, a tin of tuna for lunch, and a slice of watermelon for dinner - all whilst enduring 10 hour days of full out dancing and exercise. I don’t think anyone would be surprised to hear that the weight fell off of us both - and as the pounds disappeared the compliments replaced them. We were exhausted, occasionally passing out due to the fact we were running off empty - but we were so happy. We were being seen, being placed center front for show numbers, being constantly praised and asked how we had slimmed down. Whenever I see that particular friend now and the topic comes up we tell the story as an anecdote - we laugh about it. I can’t speak for her but there is a dark corner of my brain that still releases dopamine when I look back at those times. Although I now know not to feed that wolf, that behaviour I had adopted was unhealthy and damaging for both my mental and physical health; pictures and stories from that period remind me of validation, acceptance, and desirability. Had you asked me at the time - “Do you believe you have an unhealthy relationship with food?” - I would have told you - “Absolutely not!” - because acknowledging a flaw in my practice would have encouraged voices that I didn’t want to hear and were of no importance to me.
I also have an extremely vivid memory of one of my teachers announcing to the class a couple of days before a big show “Boys - you want the lads to look at you and want to be your best mate. Girls - you want the lads to see YOU and want to F*** YOU.” I often come back to these words. The thing that disturbs me most is the inescapable male gaze and the subtle “art” of pinning women against each other for sexual status. I know this to be a cultural problem, not just one that lives in the dance world. It bleeds through into the way women feel and how they present themselves; embedding insecurities that fight with the natural beauty of our already amazing bodies. On occasion, this superficiality has worked its way into more intimate moments of my life - disempowering me in the places where I should have felt most empowered. Thinking back to the 20-year-old me whose ears heard those words; I feel saddened that so much of my early sexual life was implemented by this and similar lessons of objectification.
When I decided to stop dancing, when it ended, I felt worthless. I didn't know who I was without this role. I had never been bothered to check...
The role of "dancer" had given me so much. A desirable, glamorous life (so I had thought); so many wonderful friends, the arts, creativity, vision, expression. But as long as I still attach to it now, I remain attached to the shadows that it cast over my life. Shadows like thinking skinny would make me happy, that my appearance was the most important thing when seeking attraction and needing validation through the praise and applause of others - not through loving myself. I know now how debilitating these beliefs are - not to mention the incorrect energy I consistently attracted by practising them.
We can choose to alter and adjust parts that we play by changing the wording and phrasing. I can adopt a different role that will not carry me to the same empty place and, instead, provides a new more explorative path for me to take. Nothing can erase what has happened but a new lens allows me to look and see things from a new perspective. It has not been easy - but it has been necessary for my healing.
From the girl who was a dancer, to the woman who loves to dance and, even now, when she hears a beat cannot resist the overriding desire to move with it.
