All Eyes On Me
Title
All Eyes On Me
Creator
Anabel Alonso
Date
10/03/2022
Text
I woke up one early Monday morning at 6:30 am in order to have two hours to get ready and get to my high-school; keep in mind that I lived in hammocks and the school was 4 minutes away. Just that tells you how anxious I was to get to dance intensives and actually dance in front of other girls my age. The whole ride over there I was jittery and cold, which often happens when I’m nervous, and I just stared off through the passenger window, almost as dramatic as they do in those Hollywood films. Anywho, as I arrive from what felt like an eternity of a car ride, I anxiously walk into the dance room with a fictitious pride in my face, since deep down I was already doubting myself. The jitters did not stop since the room was freezing, and the cool pink walls covered in mirrors lacked the warmth that I sought in that moment. In that room full of strangers I knew 2 girls, all which had danced with me before. Even though I knew people in the room, I felt isolated and judged, which was all internal because no one was neither isolating me or judging me.
Yet all goes well, and as we begin stretching I start gaining some confidence. I notice that I am just as flexible if not more flexible than the other girls, I even notice them noticing me, I felt on top of the world for the rest of the stretch; but this was the beginning of my downfall. Because I was comparing myself since the beginning, you can imagine how this can turn on me later.
As we begin to separate for technique purposes, my confidence quickly plummets. When I saw the captain (keep in mind she was the perfect dancer, a perfect mix of flexibility, power, strength, and performance) demonstrate the jumps, I immediately wanted to crawl back into my comfort shell, I felt uncomfortable and judged all at once before even showing my skills. As my turn comes a long, I feel as if I never danced a day in my life, my coordination left my body, my technique was no where to be found, and my confidence was nonexistent. I step back looking at my self in the mirror watching my every move, which began by positioning my feet in B+ to start across the floor. I then proceed to chasse, step, then leap, and in my mind I jumped no more than 2 feet. I felt miserable, truly miserable, the last thing I wanted was to embarrass myself again, yet deep down I knew this was only the beginning of an excruciating day. Although I was already expecting to further embarrass myself, my breakdown began when a skill I had never done in my life was demonstrated; the Russian. Not only did the Russian take strength that I did not have, but it was a foreign skill to me. You had to begin facing the side, and with little to no momentum switch your weight forward and snap your legs 5 feet into the air in a straddle, while remaining graceful and light on your feet. Once again, my captain (with a halo of light surrounding her) locates herself in front of the room, radiating a confidence I only wished of having, and as I saw it in slow motion, she did the best Russian I had ever seen. Knees rotated back, hyper extension in the legs, straight back, clean arms, I simply thought, “What wasn’t perfect about that.” With my luck of course, I was called to go right after her, which in my mind was a curse, I truly believed someone was out to get me. So I as some say, “faked it until I made it,” and did the best Russian I could, which could be described exactly as the opposite of my captain’s, bent knees, under extended legs, rounded back, and sloppy arms. The more I experienced, the longer the day felt, and all I could think of was going on the lunch break. But to no surprise, my true downfall, my breaking point, my enemy, was yet another skill, a triple pirouette ( a “basic” turn that every dancer learns at a young age.) Because I had not danced professionally in 4 years, my technique was not up to date, making what was just a 3 second turn for everyone else, another reason to doubt myself.
As I prepare to turn I feel the emotion take over me in a way I had never experienced before. Fear, frustration, and impotence terrorized my body and took over my head until my vision was blurry. From there all I felt were tears rushing down my cheeks like waterfalls, running down fast and repetitively. That was my breaking point, the moment where I realized it was just too overwhelming. The constant comparison was too much, the failure was too much, I could not be in that room for one more second. I felt judged by everyone, and all I felt were 40 eyes piercing right through me. The thought of having everyone look at me created a pressure in my chest, and the more I realized about how childish I looked and what the girls would think of me, the harder I began to cry.
Yet as my world was crumbling, my captain, who I admired but feared at the same time, came up to me and set me aside from the group. She preceded to tell me that she too had the same experience as an incoming freshmen to the team. She too cried on her first day, and that she too felt as if she did not deserve to be on the team at some point in her journey. In that moment I noticed that just because I was lacking a skill, I could not give up on myself this easily. Seeing how someone who shared the same experience as me was now triumphant, was inspiring. From that day on, I trained to get all those skills that made me doubt my abilities. I earned my spot on that team by not giving up on myself, and validating every step of progress that I made. Staying after school for hours working on technique and conditioning, and once I got home repeating the same process.
Often we fail to realize that any sign of progress should count as success, which is something that only took me 14 years on this earth to learn; in some cases it takes people a life time to learn this. Whether it be mentally or physically, ones efforts towards a certain task is what counts, and slow progress is the best example of your dedication. But immaturity leads to believe that slow progress means failure, and fast results means success. As a teenager who grew up in the dance community, it was engraved in my mind that perfection was the only thing that we should strive for, and anything less than was unacceptable. Unfortunately, this disruptive mindset led to many insecurities and eventually burnout at a young age.
However, with the attitude of honoring and validating small progress throughout four years instead of expecting fast results, I was able to achieve what I thought was impossible my freshmen year;
I was now four years later, captain of my dance team
Yet all goes well, and as we begin stretching I start gaining some confidence. I notice that I am just as flexible if not more flexible than the other girls, I even notice them noticing me, I felt on top of the world for the rest of the stretch; but this was the beginning of my downfall. Because I was comparing myself since the beginning, you can imagine how this can turn on me later.
As we begin to separate for technique purposes, my confidence quickly plummets. When I saw the captain (keep in mind she was the perfect dancer, a perfect mix of flexibility, power, strength, and performance) demonstrate the jumps, I immediately wanted to crawl back into my comfort shell, I felt uncomfortable and judged all at once before even showing my skills. As my turn comes a long, I feel as if I never danced a day in my life, my coordination left my body, my technique was no where to be found, and my confidence was nonexistent. I step back looking at my self in the mirror watching my every move, which began by positioning my feet in B+ to start across the floor. I then proceed to chasse, step, then leap, and in my mind I jumped no more than 2 feet. I felt miserable, truly miserable, the last thing I wanted was to embarrass myself again, yet deep down I knew this was only the beginning of an excruciating day. Although I was already expecting to further embarrass myself, my breakdown began when a skill I had never done in my life was demonstrated; the Russian. Not only did the Russian take strength that I did not have, but it was a foreign skill to me. You had to begin facing the side, and with little to no momentum switch your weight forward and snap your legs 5 feet into the air in a straddle, while remaining graceful and light on your feet. Once again, my captain (with a halo of light surrounding her) locates herself in front of the room, radiating a confidence I only wished of having, and as I saw it in slow motion, she did the best Russian I had ever seen. Knees rotated back, hyper extension in the legs, straight back, clean arms, I simply thought, “What wasn’t perfect about that.” With my luck of course, I was called to go right after her, which in my mind was a curse, I truly believed someone was out to get me. So I as some say, “faked it until I made it,” and did the best Russian I could, which could be described exactly as the opposite of my captain’s, bent knees, under extended legs, rounded back, and sloppy arms. The more I experienced, the longer the day felt, and all I could think of was going on the lunch break. But to no surprise, my true downfall, my breaking point, my enemy, was yet another skill, a triple pirouette ( a “basic” turn that every dancer learns at a young age.) Because I had not danced professionally in 4 years, my technique was not up to date, making what was just a 3 second turn for everyone else, another reason to doubt myself.
As I prepare to turn I feel the emotion take over me in a way I had never experienced before. Fear, frustration, and impotence terrorized my body and took over my head until my vision was blurry. From there all I felt were tears rushing down my cheeks like waterfalls, running down fast and repetitively. That was my breaking point, the moment where I realized it was just too overwhelming. The constant comparison was too much, the failure was too much, I could not be in that room for one more second. I felt judged by everyone, and all I felt were 40 eyes piercing right through me. The thought of having everyone look at me created a pressure in my chest, and the more I realized about how childish I looked and what the girls would think of me, the harder I began to cry.
Yet as my world was crumbling, my captain, who I admired but feared at the same time, came up to me and set me aside from the group. She preceded to tell me that she too had the same experience as an incoming freshmen to the team. She too cried on her first day, and that she too felt as if she did not deserve to be on the team at some point in her journey. In that moment I noticed that just because I was lacking a skill, I could not give up on myself this easily. Seeing how someone who shared the same experience as me was now triumphant, was inspiring. From that day on, I trained to get all those skills that made me doubt my abilities. I earned my spot on that team by not giving up on myself, and validating every step of progress that I made. Staying after school for hours working on technique and conditioning, and once I got home repeating the same process.
Often we fail to realize that any sign of progress should count as success, which is something that only took me 14 years on this earth to learn; in some cases it takes people a life time to learn this. Whether it be mentally or physically, ones efforts towards a certain task is what counts, and slow progress is the best example of your dedication. But immaturity leads to believe that slow progress means failure, and fast results means success. As a teenager who grew up in the dance community, it was engraved in my mind that perfection was the only thing that we should strive for, and anything less than was unacceptable. Unfortunately, this disruptive mindset led to many insecurities and eventually burnout at a young age.
However, with the attitude of honoring and validating small progress throughout four years instead of expecting fast results, I was able to achieve what I thought was impossible my freshmen year;
I was now four years later, captain of my dance team
Collection
Citation
Anabel Alonso, “All Eyes On Me,” Everything Speaks To Me , accessed September 18, 2026, https://everythingspeakstome.com/items/show/156.