when ballet hurts.

when ballet hurts.

Pain is hard to talk about.

When a dancer gets asked the question, "Are you okay?", numerous times the answer is an "I'm fine" in conjunction with holding back tears and a lousy looking smile.

Sometimes, you can't be honest.

Other times, the accident is great and the pain unbearable, leaving you no room to fib. 


Recently, I've had to face the unavoidable kind of pain.

The past few months post accident {a pretty gnarly ankle sprain during a performance of Swan Lake} have left me feeling uneasy. While I've found pleasure in observing my ankle shrink from swollen and beastly, to something a little less ghastly... the emotional healing is harder to navigate.

I wanted the pain to remain purely physical, but it refused to stay put. Instead, pain leaked its way out of my ankle and into the corridors of my head and my heart. I resented what pain was doing to my sense of identity.

From ballet dancer to 'injured'.

'Injured' to 'useless'.


When you literally can't do your job, it messes with you. Days become challenging in a different way. Hours are spent catering to the injury, spoon-feeding it, monitoring it constantly.

From appointment to appointment, crutching around, icing, elevating, waiting, questioning..

In the midst of chaos, I've sat still. In the quiet, I've come to consider, maybe, just maybe, pain isn't my enemy.

Maybe pain is offering an invitation.

The presence of pain can encourage me, to relinquish all power I wish to have over charting my path.

The presence of pain can lead me, into strength; to press on, ask for help, and not look back. 

The presence of pain can beckon me, to hope in something, better yet, someone, beyond myself.
Beyond an identity I earn and to receive a deeper identity instead. 

Instead of thinking pain is destroying me, I now imagine pain to be purposeful.

This time around, pain has been recalibrating my loves. I love to dance and I love being a ballet dancer. This is true. But, the truest thing about me is not what I do, what I have, or what I desire. All of these can shift at a moments notice. I must rely on an identity that is will not shift.

The truest thing about me is that I am not my own, I am loved, I am Christ's. He has promised this. 

You are loved. You belong. You belong to someone. You belong to God.

May your happiness not depend on something you may lose. May your truest identity be received rather than achieved. 

Many thanks to my Pastor & friend, Dave Lomas, for his book "The Truest Thing About You". It has been a compelling, timely, and helpful read during my recovery.

If you'd like to read it, it's available here on Amazon.


stay steadfast. stay the course. stand strong. lift your eyes. xxx



The French Market: Marin County's Outdoor Antique Market

The French Market: Marin County's Outdoor Antique Market