I found myself in the dark enclosure of a life-sized present box. The light bulb inside had gone out. Wheeled onstage, the party-scene music entered my ears. Tapping my toes in my shoes, I kept track of time, waiting for my cue. From the pitch black box to blinding stage lights, I emerged to the audience’s delightful applause. 

For non-dancers, “The Nutcracker” usually enters their consciousness as the Thanksgiving leftovers are wrapped up and the holiday decorations come out of their storage boxes. For me, “The Nutcracker” engulfed my life every year from September, when the cast list came out, until the final show in December.

Like many, I was put into creative movement dance classes when I was 3 years old. I progressed through these classes, exploring tap, hip-hop and ballet. For some reason, my young self decided to stick with ballet. I enjoyed the calmness of the classical music, the precision that was demanded and the beautiful tulle skirts I got to wear. I idolized the older dancers who got to perform in “The Nutcracker” and romanticized the euphoria I would experience when I was old enough to perform. 

When I was 8 years old, I finally got the opportunity to be in the ballet. I was cast as a party child in the Christmas Eve party scene at the beginning of Act 1. In this scene, the Stahlbaum family hosts a party with various guests, and their daughter, Marie, and son, Fritz, receive gifts from their uncle, Drosselmeyer. One of these gifts are two life-size dolls who emerge from a present box and dance for all of the guests. As an 8-year-old, I was astonished by the older ballerinas who performed the doll dance. I even asked one of them for their signature. I was convinced they had achieved the epitome of perfection in ballet.

Ten years later, I found myself in the same costumes as the ballerinas I once looked up to and in the same box that they enchantingly emerged from. However, I was not experiencing the transcendent feeling I thought would come with it. My passion for ballet was depleting after a decade of harsh criticism, never-ending rehearsals and unrealistic body expectations, but this didn’t take away my passion for performing. 

After years of moving through the ranks of “The Nutcracker” roles — party child, battle doll, Polichinelle, Spanish hot chocolate, Russian candy cane, Chinese tea, snowflake, flower and party doll —  I learned that with each role came greater opportunity to fail, but also to perform. On stage, I got to leave my reality behind and enter my character. If you are a performer, you can relate to the intoxicating and exhilarating adrenaline of exiting the stage knowing you danced your best. I chased the feeling for 10 years, looking forward to the next year when I would be given even bigger roles. 

This holiday season is the first where preparing for “The Nutcracker” hasn’t consumed my life outside of school. While sitting in my lectures, my mind doesn’t wander to the choreography I am learning, because I have no performance. I don’t worry about saving enough money to buy another pair of pointe shoes to get me through the season — in fact, I haven’t put on my pointe shoes since May. I can no longer call myself a ballerina, even though it was a major aspect of my identity since age 3. 

Looking back, I realized that to be good, I was encouraging myself to neglect my own needs for the sake of performing: my hunger, bleeding blisters, sleep and bruised toenails were all ignored. This is why I knew that last year’s ballet would be my final curtain call. Because of this, I am even more grateful that I was privileged to be cast as the party doll role and fulfill the dream of my 8-year-old self — completing the life cycle of my career dancing in “The Nutcracker.” 

Now, when I see advertisements for the ballet throughout the city or hear the quintessential music in commercials, I am hit with a wave of anxiety and nostalgia — an encoded anxiety from the years I spent obsessing over this music and the choreography associated with it, a nostalgia for my years of hard work and dedication to the craft that thrilled me. I realized that sometimes you have to say goodbye to something before it takes more than it gives. This is how I knew it was time to step back from ballet.

I also realized that I spent so much time performing in “The Nutcracker” that it has been a couple of years since I have gone and seen it for myself. This year, I can’t wait to enjoy the show from the other side of the curtain.

Contact Siobhán Minerva at [email protected].