For many of us, the relationship between movement and sustenance has long been one of disconnection. I never thought I'd find myself in the midst of a surprising harmony between dance and dinner, but life often surprises.
A decade spent dancing, followed by an unglamorous stint with a restrictive eating disorder, left me feeling hollow inside. But something changed last February when I stumbled upon a beginner's ballet class at my local market. With each class, movement followed by provision became the rhythm of my daily routine – a simple yet exhilarating dance between exertion and dinner.
As I stepped back into the world of dance, my body remembered pleasure as quickly as it forgot skill. And with that newfound sense of joy, hunger returned. No longer was it a hollow, ambient kind but rather one that followed movement, like a loyal companion demanding to be honored. This "earned appetite" – physical and satisfying – became an essential part of my daily routine.
My days now blend the sounds of music and laughter with the sound of pots and pans clinking as I prepare meals. The store where I shop for ingredients is just a short walk from my dance studio, offering an enticing array of artisanal breads, cheeses, and sausages that make me want to host dinner parties.
I'm not going to claim this two-bag habit is some kind of triumph – it's more like a realist recognizing her own limitations. But for those who have struggled with eating disorders, the fact that I've rediscovered my appetite may offer a glimmer of hope. Perhaps by embracing movement and nourishment as intertwined experiences, we can find a healthier relationship between our bodies and the world around us.
Dance has become more than just a hobby; it's braided itself into my daily existence – a symphony of movement and nourishment that I'm grateful to have discovered.
A decade spent dancing, followed by an unglamorous stint with a restrictive eating disorder, left me feeling hollow inside. But something changed last February when I stumbled upon a beginner's ballet class at my local market. With each class, movement followed by provision became the rhythm of my daily routine – a simple yet exhilarating dance between exertion and dinner.
As I stepped back into the world of dance, my body remembered pleasure as quickly as it forgot skill. And with that newfound sense of joy, hunger returned. No longer was it a hollow, ambient kind but rather one that followed movement, like a loyal companion demanding to be honored. This "earned appetite" – physical and satisfying – became an essential part of my daily routine.
My days now blend the sounds of music and laughter with the sound of pots and pans clinking as I prepare meals. The store where I shop for ingredients is just a short walk from my dance studio, offering an enticing array of artisanal breads, cheeses, and sausages that make me want to host dinner parties.
I'm not going to claim this two-bag habit is some kind of triumph – it's more like a realist recognizing her own limitations. But for those who have struggled with eating disorders, the fact that I've rediscovered my appetite may offer a glimmer of hope. Perhaps by embracing movement and nourishment as intertwined experiences, we can find a healthier relationship between our bodies and the world around us.
Dance has become more than just a hobby; it's braided itself into my daily existence – a symphony of movement and nourishment that I'm grateful to have discovered.