Looking in the mirror and being happy in my own skin

It started young, hating my body. Typically, I could be found with my nose in a book rather than kicking a ball on a soccer field. In fact, often I was the last one picked for a sports team at school.

There was one place I felt elegant and beautiful. At ballet class when I was dancing. It began around the age of 10 or 11. I, a rather slender and compact but not skinny pre-teen who came up short on height, stood at the barre with my feet in first position behind a row of other pre-teen girls. Our instructor for that evening class walked up and down the line calling out the sequence of pliés and relevés.

She glances at me as the music stops and makes one comment, You probably will not be tall but I certainly hope you do not get curvy!

Curvy!

Another word for chubby, womanly, and fat.

In the years to come, as my body filled out, those words stuck with me. In my soul as well as my memory.

A few years later, I landed a lead role in the upcoming ballet production. Ecstatic to be noticed, I worked really hard at my part, dancing even harder to make sure I left a good impression.

Then it happened again…..