Identity: Personal Statement

I told my mom I was itchy, that the sequins on my costume were bothersome (and not to my taste). We were approaching hour five of rehearsal at the studio, clocking in nearly forty hours this week. The dirty mirrors, fluorescent lights, and vibrations from the speakers periodically distracted my brain from my aching joints, sunken eyes, and the set of push-ups I had just been directed to do for yawning in front of my dance teacher.

I have “taken a break” from dancing three separate times throughout my life. I am no stranger to an identity crisis; I dedicated my life to an industry that was not dedicated to me. However, each time I was separated from dance, I questioned my passion. Curious if it was my true calling or if I had boarded a train with no stops, lunging headfirst with naive devotion and no apparent destination in sight. My dilemma sent me in a spiral, evaluating if my identity as an artist was more contingent on personal gratification or my contribution to something bigger than myself. Despite this internal battle, it never took more than nine months to find myself reboarding that train.

My inevitable decision to discontinue my professional dance career was an unconscious one--one that chose my mental health over a career that took advantage of me for the sake of serving as “art.” Though at the time, you could not interrogate that information out of me. When questions were asked, I’d refer to a list of more practical reasons as to why I was quitting, none of which were in any relation to my emotional state of being. I still found myself guilty as to how I was so unhappy in a position I had worked for since my childhood. My relentless chase towards my dreams distracted me from a desperate investigation to understand what was lacking in my identity.

My relationship with my past is full of complexity. Though I applaud myself for making the right choice, I have dealt with the lingering disappointment that has consumed my subconscious. My identity as a person felt it was stripped, as was my title of being a dancer. But as the distance has grown since being a student in a dance studio, I recognized that the mentality I battled was the product of my narrow-minded environment.

My devotion towards my dance career was at the cost of my mental well-being. However, it was the display of my heart, undying love, and commitment towards the safety net I was protected by for as long as my memory recalls. This safety net curated my sense of purpose, discipline, self-awareness, and my resilience. The defeat I felt towards myself as a dancer allowed me to see life beyond it. I learned to see the narrative as something to define rather than one that comes to define me.

The process of letting go and re-framing my identity gave me a chance to discover the right path for myself. I learned to give myself grace and recognize the light in the innocence of my journey with dance. The little girl I once was let her heart guide her, even when the journey needed to end. Perhaps I never lost my dancer identity--maybe the once physical art form has nested within my body, accompanying me through the flows of life. Dance will always be etched into my being, but I have taken inventory of my life. I have allowed my identity to fluctuate and to do so without judgment--leaving me space to reinvent, to come back, to move on, and to be larger than the box that has confined me.