My mom put me in dance classes when I was two-years old. From then on, dance was always a constant in my life. It became a part of my daily routine. School, dance, sleep, repeat. It was a fundamental part of my identity. I was “Seren, the dancer.” My Instagram feed was filled with pictures of my dance friends and videos of dance routines. I posted pictures of myself with trophies and medals and would receive praise from friends and family. But, this wasn’t the full story.
As a teenager, being very involved in the dance community made me hyper-aware of how people saw my body and how I saw it as well. Dance was all about bodies. And my body never looked like the “typical” dancer’s body. I wasn’t as thin as everyone else, therefore I wasn’t considered as good of a dancer because of it. All people could see was my body, and never my skill or art.
This affected me deeply. I deemed myself less worthy, telling myself that because I looked different I wasn’t as good as everyone else. It felt like I was trying to fit in somewhere I didn’t really belong. My anxiety told me everyone’s eyes were on me, staring at me. Dissecting me.
Looking at my body in a negative light was obviously not healthy for me. And I was surrounded by a community in which your worthiness was based on your size. Worthiness was not determined by your creativity as a dancer or your knowledge in the skill. No, I could train and train all I wanted (at my busiest, I was dancing 25 hours a week on top of school), but it would never matter because I didn’t weigh 100 pounds or less.
It became increasingly difficult to go to class. Other dancers walked in with crop tops and shorts on and I walked into class wearing leggings and a loose t-shirt. It was difficult to look at myself in the mirror, and I had to. I had to look at myself for hours on end in order to learn and become a better dancer.
I quit dancing when I was 16. I say that I quit because school got way too busy and that academics were my number one focus. But, I can’t deny that I felt a sense of relief that I wouldn’t have to go to dance class anymore. At this point, I was aware of the fact that I was extremely insecure and fragile, so I decided to make the effort to learn to love myself.
It felt like I was rewiring my brain, I mean, I kind of was. I began to train myself to think about myself without any negativity. It was hard, truly. I had to teach myself that my size doesn’t inhibit my ability to be a good dancer, or person. It doesn’t make me any less worthy than other people.
Something I did on a whim was follow body positive social media accounts like @bodyposipanda and @roseybeemee. Surrounding myself by people that promoted body positive values helped me to learn to do the same thing. I also began to focus my time and energy on my friends that accepted me for me, and they remain my best friends to this day.
The last half of high school, I was as confident as I had ever been. Little things like telling myself I looked good in the mirror and wearing clothes that made me feel good about myself helped loads. Of course, I had bad days where it was hard to look at myself in the mirror or I just wanted to hide in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt. But everyday, it got a little easier. And, that’s what really matters.