That Leotard
It took every ounce of incentive in me to pull the pale, pink tights up my damp, sweaty legs. They were thick and uncomfortable and I dreaded the tugging and picking and pulling of them until I could finally get the waistband to stay stationary above my clumsy hips, making a crease in my belly as I bent over. The tights weren’t the worst part, however. Next came the tight, spandex leotard that clung to every curve and every divot on my body; and looking up as I pulled the straps up and over my shoulders, I thanked the universe that at least, of all the colors, it was black. Now, as if the reflection of my silhouetted body looking back at me in the mirror, stretching along the entirety of the dance studio wasn’t self-deprecating enough, I had to put my long, brown hair up into a neat, tight bun, the last shard of security I felt I had left.
I was 14 years old, at the height of my most insecure stage in growth, and beginning my freshman year of highschool. This was our first day of class and I dreaded being there. I hated ballet but this was a required class in order for me to continue dance throughout the school year. Stepping into the classroom wearing that leotard felt like stepping into that classroom naked. I had made the choice to keep my bra on under the leotard even though we were told not to, and as we began doing pirouette combinations across the studio, it became very evident that I was the only girl who had chosen to do so. In the midst of all the spinning, I was immediately called on by my instructor and she made an example out of me in front of the whole class. “This will NEVER be ok,” she said; holding me hostage at the front of the class. Everyone was looking at me, and some of the best dancers in the class were whispering and smiling; it stung.
When I returned home from class that day, I ran upstairs, ripped off my leotard and pushed it to the very back of my bottom dresser drawer. That is where it remains to this very day. Being so young at the time, especially during such an awkward period of development, this one incident felt like an earthquake, and my entire world was crumbling into teeny tiny pieces. It was those girls laughing at me, and the discomfort I felt in my own skin that heightened the insecurities I felt about my body. The whole idea of Ballet stresses the importance of perfection and uniform movement. The art of Ballet is about being the same, people included. I was not the same as these girls. I looked at these girls all I could see were a bunch of people who fit in, who were comfortable with themselves, happy being there, and all with similar body types and heights. I was short, paunchy, miserable and I certainly did not want to be there.
Throughout the time I was taking these classes, finally arriving home and taking that leotard off was the best part of my day for the longest time. While I was in those classes my eyes were always on the clock as I counted every minute, every second until the class would be over. Nevertheless, all the while I was in these classes for, I had failed to realize something very important. I became accustomed to placing importance on the wrong aspects of my life. I was giving value to what brought me down instead of what lifted me up, comparing myself to others instead of learning to love myself. I kept going to these classes because they were what I believed, at the time, to be the epitome of how I should be. I thought that if I just kept going, maybe, maybe I would magically start to dance like them, become friends with them, even look like them. It took me a long time after that until I realized how wrong I was.
All the while, I am still unsure what it was that drove me to care so much. I continued to dance throughout high school, but instead of ballet I chose to take contemporary and modern classes. These dance forms encourage outside-of-the-box thinking which is exactly what I needed. I didn’t need to conform to any image at all, I could just be myself, wear whatever I wanted, and dance how I wanted to. This really helped me to accept myself, and when the time came for me to take an extra-credit ballet intensive, I dug through my clothing to find that old leotard and I wore it with pride instead of shame. No, I didn’t look like every other girl there but my confidence refused to budge. It took a lot of time for me to reach this point with my self-confidence, and I am still and will probably always be working on it, but I am so happy I am done caring about what others think and changing myself for other people; trying to be something I am not; but it’s a work in progress.
Now I am in college, but I still have the leotard, although I know I will never need it again. It is sitting idly, pushed to the very back of my dresser drawer back at home. I haven’t thrown it out. I guess I have kept it as a reminder of what I have learned and how far I have come. I still hate it because it brings back old memories, and I never purposefully move it around or touch it, but it’s there. Now, don’t take this the wrong way, because I am proud of the challenges I have overcome and the hardships I have lived through. I am allowed to despise the feelings associated with a particular article of clothing. Yet, despite the sour taste that leotard has left in my mouth I can also look at it and feel proud and happy. We cannot pick and choose the parts of our past we’d like to keep or give way. We can try and shove the bad parts to the back of a drawer in our closet, but that won’t change whether they happened or not. I am allowed to hate that leotard because I have earned my right to hate it. I keep it because it is a part of me. I keep it because I know that at this point in time, as a young college student who all-around doesn’t actually know too much about all of life’s struggles just yet, I know that a piece of clothing can’t hold me back. This is something I have learned, this is something I have overcome, so I keep that leotard there in my closet, and it will always remain there.
Alice Unkrich Composing Self 