I started taking classical ballet in seventh grade when my coach suggested that it might benefit my skating. You see before I took ballet I was probably the least graceful child ever. She used to tell me that my hands, when they were supposed to be delicate, looked like they were clutching grapefruits. My knobby elbows bent into sharp corners instead of into the round, soft shapes that they should have taken on.
My ballet training were made up of some extremely memorable moments, both good and bad. I only took class twice a week, Monday and Friday. I took one class on Mondays, but Fridays I was at the studio for three and a half, sometimes four, hours straight. In addition to ballet I also took jazz, choreography/partnering, and eventually an advanced ballet class. It was difficult and very sweaty but I managed. I left the house on Friday mornings at 5am for an early morning skate and didn't return home on until 9:30 after my partnering class had ended. Somehow though, I loved how exhausting it was. I felt productive and strong.
My ballet instructor, or Madame as we were told to call her, was a woman in her eighties but she had a youthfulness about her. She would sometimes dance with us, move with us, and she taught for hours and hours a week. She was tough and very strict, but those were the reasons I respected her so much. At least initially.
Into my second and third years of ballet training I began to notice some unhealthy things happening at the studio. She used to always encourage me to come to more classes, "it will make your skating better", "your ankles will be stronger", "you'll be a better skater" , "you need to be at Wednesday and Thursday classes" she would say almost every week. My response became almost scripted. I would tell her, very politely and carefully, that if I attended any more classes than I already was that I wouldn't have the resources, time and money, to continue to skate. Granted, I would have probably been worlds better if I had gone to class every day. Heck! My progress after the first year was incredible. I went from no turn out to quite a bit. I went from no grace to quite graceful. I went from sickled feet to pleasantly pointed toes. At this rate, I probably could have done great things with ballet but it wasn't my focus. My reason for taking classes was to strengthen my skating. To make me a better figure skater. And I constantly had to remind myself of that.
But that aspect wasn't what made me uncomfortable. It was that I always wondered if she wanted me to take more classes because it would benefit my dancing or if it was because it would put more money in her pocket.
In general, i'm a competitive person...which makes things difficult when it comes to competing because even though I want to be the best with every bone in my body, I also get incredibly nervous. But when it came to Ballet there were no nerves, I was competitive as usual. I wanted to be the best in the class, or at least one of the best. And I was on my way there if I hadn't quit. But Madame picked favorites, big time. She loved the new students, the young students. She gave them lots of corrections, talked them up in front of the class, praised them for their hard work. I was that student my first year and part of my second year. Once a student had been there for a few months, maybe a year, however, it was as if they had become invisible. I began to notice this by my third year. She was no longer correcting me and I know it was definitely not because there was nothing to correct. She rarely commented on anything having to do with my dancing, nor did she even look at me sometimes. She was pre occupied with the "triple threats" in her class. The "potential Broadway girls", and she seemed to forget about everyone else.
One day, she sat us all down for a lecture. She did this occasionally and we rejoiced that class had ended a few minutes early and we could sit. Usually she told stories of how hard she had to work in her day, how she has grown soft over the years and we should be thankful. Some comments were mildly frustrating to hear but this day, this day was different. She went around the room commenting on each person. On their dancing and on their personal being. When she got to me she looked at me a minute and I could feel my heart beat in my chest. "Now" and she said my name "I don't know if you are too socially, emotionally, or intellectually immature or all three...." she continued but the blood rushed through my cheeks so hard and so fast I thought my face might light on fire. I gnawed on my lower lip, clenched my jaw and tried to look as calm as possible.
What I really wanted to do was a cross between cry and scream. At 14 she was probably right, I was probably a little immature as most 14 year olds are but she had no right to call me out on it in front of the entire class. I did my best. I worked hard. She had even treated me the previous year as if I was her prized possession and now she was tossing me out onto the curb like a sac of used goods. For a girl that already struggled with self-confidence issues this was my tipping point.
I sat quietly in the car on the ride home, I never said a word. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth the cry would escape. My mom was concerned at my silence and she knew that something had gone awry. I didn't open up until later in the summer before registration for the next year began. I told her what had happened and that I didn't want to go back.
I miss ballet sometimes and I'm far from being bitter about my experiences with Madame. She taught me a lot about myself and what I am capable of. I learned how to be graceful, how to be balletic and delicate. I learned how to be mentally and physically strong. They were very important, those three years I spent with Madame and I wouldn't take any of them back.
I was glad that I could finally acknowledge that her teaching style was unhealthy and it had nothing to do with her being strict. It was the personal attacks that bothered me the most, and the favoritism. If ballet was my life long passion I might have stuck with it, but the reason I started taking it was to better my figure skating. For a girl with self-confidence issues already, this definitely wasn't helping.
It's ironic because I made my decision for what I felt, and still feel, were mature reasons. Staying in an unhealthy situation would have been immature, at least from my perspective. And it took a lot of guts to give up something I loved for what was right for me. It's been three years now without ballet and I'm thinking of starting again in colleg
e. Something light duty, easier going, just to revive my passion for movement and expression. Madame kindled a passion for ballet in me, and I'm thankful for that, and I cannot wait to rekindle that passion.
Best of Luck!! (and lots of love to all of my readers!)
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