Finding Hope After Dance 1.2
It's Nutcracker season, and feelings can be complicated.
For at least some of us, it can feel really hard (painful, insensitive, frustrating, etc…) to be invited to watch a dance performance after we’ve lost dance ourselves. The person inviting us might have beautiful intentions— Come support the artists, this is such a great opportunity to show up for them, perhaps these are the very folks you used to dance alongside— but the invitation can still hurt, all the same.
For myself, as a former ballet dancer, the season in which I feel this particular grief feels most acute in December, which tends to be Nutcracker season in our culture. Over the years, family and friends have invited me to see various shows, and I’ve turned almost all of them down (keep reading for the recent exception I made).
Honoring the spectrum of feelings
If you are a former dancer who’s able to watch a dance performance with peace in your heart (as opposed to grief, resentment, envy, etc.), then that is a beautiful thing! Please hear me: No judgment here. A heart that is at peace in this situation is a precious gift. I absolutely want to honor former dancers who can watch performances and still be okay. Simultaneously, I also want to honor those of us who find ourselves in a tender place with this type of invitation.
It took me almost a decade
I got injured in May 2017. To the best of my memory, the first dance show I attended after my injury was this past November 2025, just a few weeks ago. (This doesn’t count my church’s multi-media Advent shows, in which dancers performed very brief segments.) In other words, it took me eight-plus years to feel up to attending a full-length dance performance. Admittedly, I had a few reasons to attend this show, with the main motivation to reconnect with a friend who directed it (and this turned out to be a blessing).
The actual experience of being in the audience still proved to be complicated for me, even after all these years of moving through the cycle of stages of grief.
The show— a mix of professionals and university students in an autumn showcase— overall went well. For the most part, I was able to focus on their dancing instead of myself. I also genuinely admired the caliber of their dancing, particularly their artistry and technical abilities. The choreography was also interesting to watch, so my attention never drifted away.
Yet, I also was aware of my own body at times. There were several moments in which I was tempted to move to the music, even to sway in my seat, but ultimately I restrained myself. Perhaps I should’ve allowed myself to move a little bit, to not overthink it so much. Instead, I felt my grief slowly waking up in my soul in these moments of desire. I know myself well enough by this point to know that I still can’t move to music without the heartache reappearing in the next few beats, and that’s why I stayed still.
Afterwards, I was able to meet up with my friend, and I genuinely thanked her for the invitation. Even though the show was a complex experience for my body and my heart, I was still blessed by the hour and a half of watching artists moving beautifully. However, I don’t think I could have watched the show (or any dance performance) any sooner than these eight-plus years after my injury.
A Blessing
Whether you feel grief, or feel okay, or perhaps a mix, here is a blessing for you:
May you be seen and loved this season for who you are
May you be richly blessed in your decision, whether you attend a show or not
May you take tender care of your heart
May you release all that might hold you back from a healed heart
May your soul feel its worth always
May you go in peace.