A lot of people think that being a ballet dancer is incredible. And they're right. But creating and maintaining the paper-thin, feather-like appearance that so many people envy is not easy. It's almost a nightmare. I am turning twenty this November, and I have already endured more pain than a woman in labour.
It's a horrifying experience, to be a ballet dancer. You have no choice but to dance, no matter how bad your ankle is hurting, or how profusely your feet are bleeding from last night's performance. It is painful, but I've learned to endure it. With time and patience, you can fight down the pain-filled winces and whimpers and replace them with plastic smiles. All the articles I've read sugarcoat the true agony of dancing. So I've decided to tell my own story, through the eyes of me, Emma Jolivet.
In my time as a ballerina, I've gotten five sprained ankles, two hyperextended knees, seven twisted wrists, and my feet have bled more times than I can count. Being a dancer is the most exhilarating experience of my life, but it comes with so many challenges, including eating. I weigh 103 pounds, and I'm 5 foot 5 inches. I've been called gaunt, and even skeletal. Many people ask if I'm anorexic. Triple-zero jeans are too big for me, and I need to tailor my own bras, because they are all too small. In the past two years, I have dropped 10 pounds-from 113-already underweight-to 103-severely underweight. Being a dancer means you have to stay thin, almost waiflike. Your life depends entirely on how thin your waist is, how skinny your ankles are. The pain is excruciating. Imagine a large cake, sitting directly in front of you. But you cannot eat it, because it's poisoned. Our poison is sugar. If we eat too much sugar, we will suffer the consequences. But if we eat too little, it's hell on earth.
And as for that lighter-than-air appearance onstage? It hurts, to seemingly glide across the floor and leap into the air. If you land wrong, your leg could break, your wrist could snap, and if it does, your entire career, everything you've worked so hard for, is over. It's painful, both emotionally and physically. After a performance, my feet look like I have been walking through sharp pebbles for hours. There are gouges where my slippers have cut into the skin, and my toenails fall off commonly. There is no cure for the pain of tortured feet, and if you ask a doctor, they will say to take a break from dancing. But that is impossible. Because if you take a break, your body will deteriorate. If you do not practice, it's over.
But being a ballerina is not a nightmare, not entirely. In fact, it is the most exhilarating experience of my life. Being up onstage, the world watching you as you dance-it's like heaven. Not even yellow-bruised and bleeding feet can take that away. But if you trip, that illusion cracks, and it's over. Being a dancer-a professional ballet dancer-means your entire reputation is on the line. You hold the show together.
I had a friend who was another ballerina. She was absolutely stunning, three years older than me. Her name was Christine. And at age 16, she died from anorexia. The doctors warned her that she was too thin, but she didn't listen. All she said was that she wasn't perfect enough. In fact, the very last thing she said to me was "Emma, you don't understand. I need to be better." Well, she never became better, and she never got better. Her only obituary was "Christine Liu. 1999-2015" and then she was gone. But this isn't about recognition. This is about the agony that is dancing. It's the most painful experience of my life, and I never, ever, want anyone to feel the hurt that I've felt. Four of my friends have died:
Christine, who starved to death. Sadie, who fell off the stage, into the orchestra pit, and broke her neck. Chloe, who committed suicide because her parents forced her to practice for three hours a day because they wanted her to be perfect. And finally Aaron, whose dancing was stunning and would get him all the way to the Paris Opera House, even, but instead, because of so many people telling him that he couldn't be a transgender ballet dancer, dehydrated himself.
Ballet is a wonderful career choice, and I love it with all my heart. But to the little girls and boys out there: you're going to feel pain. You're going to want to kill yourself. You're going to wonder if you even matter. Those compliments will fall flat. You will fail. Over and over. You will feel like you're dying, sometimes. But you can make it.
I made it.
