What it’s like to be a Professional Dancer with a Mental Illness

During this entire research period I have been trying to analyse every aspect of my practice and where it comes from. However, there’s one aspect that I have always tried to ignore, partly out of embarrassment, partly out of fear of judgement, and partly because of a feeling that it was not relevant. But it is exceptionally relevant, because the management of it is imperative for me to practice efficiently and to the best of my ability. This ‘aspect’ is that I suffer from depression and anxiety and have done for several years. 

 

It sounds almost paradoxical that I can be doing what I have always dreamed of doing (i.e. dancing professionally), yet I can still have depression and feel as if my life is without hope nor purpose. But that is because it is an illness that affects your brain chemistry, not a logical stream of thought following the positive and negative pathways of your life. Moreover, within the dance community, despite positive steps being taken in the last few years (which bring me great hope for the future), mental health is rarely discussed and even more rarely understood. I remember the first time during my third year of vocational training when the problems bubbling underneath finally came to the surface and a dear friend of mine told our head of year that I was having dark thoughts relating to self-harm (I was too anxious to tell her myself). I remember clearly the look of utter horror and shock on her face. This is a perfectly human reaction, but this teacher always had a ‘solution’ to a problem we came to her with, even if it was one we were not particularly keen on.  This time she was stumped, because mental illness was never discussed during our training and I could tell she had never received any training on how to deal with it or even how to refer someone to a doctor or therapist that did have a ‘solution’. 

 

My depression worsened and eventually I was put on antidepressants. After having panic attacks in rehearsals, not attending classes because I could barely get out of bed (I always feigned physical illness when questioned about this because telling someone I wanted to die didn’t seem appropriate), and snapping aggressively at some of my closest friends I pulled out of our third year company tour. This was in no way a magical cure but taking time away to focus on my mental health really was the first step I took towards tackling my illness. 

 

During the course of the last few years I have learned to manage my depression and anxiety through therapy. This does not mean that it is gone. This also does not mean that I don’t ever have flare ups or moments when it shows itself not just to myself but also to those around me, many of whom do not understand it. Dancers are often extremely insecure and seek approval from directors and choreographers, meaning that feelings of inadequacy and disheartenment are commonplace. With age and experience you learn to manage these issues better, yet they are partly what my depression and anxiety feed upon. When I am not feeling my best even the slightest comment or interaction can be blown way out of proportion, and the subsequent feeling overcomes me, which I have to actively work to expel, whilst trying to maintain a tranquil exterior. This often does not happen and I have to leave the room in order to get the tears out and my breathing under control. Often my colleagues, out of genuine concern will ask after my wellbeing, and it is difficult to explain the amass of negative thoughts in my head succinctly. Yet every time that I am able to come back into the room and continue to do my job despite the chaos in my head is an achievement, and I am strong for being able to continue working in spite of this, not the contrary, as my illness would have me believe. 

 

The same goes for your own opinion of yourself as a human and as a dancer. Confidence in the latter is difficult for many dancers without a mental illness, due to the huge amount of competition and thus frequent rejection. Having a mental illness as you can probably guess, magnifies these insecurities so that they play into your everyday life, both at work and outside of it. My depression makes me feel as if I am completely worthless, and that I should treat myself as such, making me self-sabotage in tasks I know I am talented enough to complete, or challenges I know I can overcome. 

 

I have mentioned in my reflective essay that I use mindfulness as a part of my practice in order to balance my brain and quieten my anxiety before dancing. Again, this is not a cure, and it would be extremely irresponsible of me to promote it as such, but it is a tool that can be employed in the fight against unease in the mind. During the writing workshop, the idea of a ‘toolbox’ for writing was discussed, and I feel we can transfer the same idea to mental health. We have our ‘toolbox’ of coping mechanisms in order to combat our feelings, and this is what I am still learning to do within my professional practice. 

 

I hope that we can continue to have more conversations and put policy in place surrounding mental health within the professional dance community, so that future generations need not feel shame, embarrassment or fear whilst addressing a perfectly human issue that can affect anyone, professional dancer or not.