Beads of sweat drip down my pink tights as my leg strains to lift into the air. “Higher,” demands Mrs.Slagle, pushing my leg upwards with her cold, bony hands. The other dancers turn their heads, watching as my leg begins to shake, resisting the force of her hand. As the delicate piano music slows to a stop, her hand remains firm on my leg. “Higher,” she repeats, annoyance cutting into her words. She scoffs, drops my leg, and turns away. Inadequacy became a daily occurrence for me.

 Standing at 5 foot 1 with the sternness of a prison guard, Mrs. Slagle made sure I left each ballet class feeling like a failure, never measuring up to her expectations. And after each failure, I returned the next day, ready for the critiques and scrutiny. Determined to prove that my legs could be as flexible as the more experienced dancers in my class, I stretched everyday for months. One ballet class, my leg extension finally reached the height of the other dancers around me. I waited for Mrs. Slagle to acknowledge my progress during class, hoping for any shred of approval. Instead, she passed by me without a word. For 3 years I danced for Mrs.Slagle, and for 3 years she never complimented me once. And yet, as I attended her last class before her retirement, I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic at the thought of never having to dance for her again. After a particularly hard dance combination, Mrs. Slagle paused the music and stood in front of me. I braced myself for a critique, already wincing from the inevitable sting of her words. 

 “I’m really proud of how hard you work in my class” she stated, a blank look on her face.

The compliment ended as soon as it began, and she quickly walked away from me. Now, years later, I don’t feel accomplished after a ballet class unless I get critiqued. After constantly being criticized by Mrs.Slagle, I finally began to realize that her critiques were truly compliments, showing that she cared enough about me and saw enough potential in me to help me become a better dancer.