I am a professional ballet dancer.
I don’t call myself a ballerina.
It’s not because I don’t love ballet. It’s not because I don’t perform classical repertoire or dance in pointe shoes. It’s because the word ballerina has taken on a life of its own—one that doesn’t quite fit what I do or who I am.
When most people hear ballerina, they picture a delicate, ethereal figure in a tutu and tiara, effortlessly floating across the stage. They imagine someone impossibly thin, someone who eats like a bird yet somehow survives. They assume that being a ballerina means an easy life—doing what you love, twirling through a fairytale.
If only.
The reality of professional ballet is far from effortless. It’s built on grit, sweat, and—for me—many tears. It’s training when you're sore, cross-training when you’re tired, and fueling your body intentionally because under-eating will break you faster than any grueling rehearsal ever could. It’s late nights, early mornings, ice baths, recovery work, and learning how to advocate for your body when the world would rather you stay silent. And on top of all that? It’s maintaining a schedule that actually covers your expenses.
I get it. The word ballerina is pretty, elegant, and wrapped in tradition. But for me, it’s too small. It glosses over the reality of what it takes to dance at this level. It minimizes the years of dedication, the bruises, the strength, and the relentless pursuit of improvement.
That’s why I call myself a professional ballet dancer instead.
It’s a small shift, but an important one. Ballet isn’t just artistry—it’s athleticism, discipline, and a career that demands far more than most people realize. I am proud of that. And I want to make sure the world sees it for what it really is.
So, no—I am not a ballerina. I am a professional ballet dancer, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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