If you need a refresher on the Ballerina Farm narrative, ballet educator and Instagram influencer Cynthia Dragoni of @thedancerlens sums it up nicely: “Young, ‘pretty-talented’ dancer gets distracted by boyfriend. Makes a different choice in life.”
But the viral articles will make you think otherwise. Fold in some provocative visuals such as “pregnant Juilliard undergrad,” “billionaire cowboy-ish husband” and “mother of eight” into everything this homestead ballerina doesn’t have — no nannies, no epidurals, no ballet studio in the barn — and watch the controversy light up faster than the gas on an Aga stove.
The thing that bothers me most is that I am made to feel like this is an either/or situation and that I am supposed to take sides.
Is Hannah Neeleman a ballet-student-turned-beauty-queen who feels trapped by her life and pines for what could have been as she milks cows and gathers eggs? I don’t know. Not my choice. Not my sacrifice.
Or is she living her best life with her gaggle of kids, her nine million social media followers, and her undisputed financial security via marriage? Again, I don’t know. Not my sacrifice. Not my choice.
But I do know that once you are boxed in by an either/or narrative, it’s really hard to claim the both/and reality behind the labels.
I’m a wife, a mom and an artist. I don’t work outside the house — by the traditional definition — but I write and publish books. I’m an active member of my literary community and I foster other artists and creatives. I have it all.
Can I be in a traditional marriage and still have a husband who does all the grocery shopping and all the dishes? Because I do.
When I had kids, I knew I’d never go back to dancing. Am I still a ballet dancer? I think so. In our marriage, my husband and I make all our decisions together, and yet, I have no financial independence. Are we still equals? You bet.
This is the kind of both/and that I want my daughter to witness.
But not just my story. I want her to read about Ingrid Silva, the Brazilian ballerina from the Dance Theater of Harlem, who, pregnant and in pointe shoes, graced the cover of Vogue Brazil in 2020. Now she’s returned to the stage as a dancer. She has added “choreographer” to her résumé and last month she was on the cover of Harper’s Bazaar Brazil.
Celia Fushille was in her early 20s recovering from a knee injury when she got married and had two kids. She returned to the ballet studio mostly to stay in shape, but she caught the eye of Michael Smuin, a prominent San Francisco choreographer looking to found his own ballet company. Fushille took the job offered her — first as a ballet dancer, then as a principal, and eventually as associate artistic director. When Smuin passed away in 2007, she was appointed artistic director of Smuin Ballet, a post she held for 17 years. These are not isolated incidents. There are mothers all over the world who have found a way to nurture their children and their artistic passions without sacrificing one for the other. Our circumstances are different as are our support systems. We don’t fit into cookie-cutter formulas and our stories don’t get fueled by clickbait. But we are out there, doing our thing, knowing that what works for some doesn’t work for others.
We know there is no formula to “having it all” but we know it’s out there and we can make it happen for ourselves.
Case in point:
Right now I am in Paris.
It’s not a vacation. My daughter and I are on our way to Berlin where she will attend a 10-day ballet intensive with teachers from some of the most prestigious ballet companies in the world.
My original plan had been to send her to a 10-day ballet intensive closer to home in a city commonly not known for its support of the arts. I’d known the director of the school from my own days as a professional ballet dancer. My daughter auditioned and was accepted.
But then a friend of mine — also the mother of an aspiring ballerina — found the Berlin course. Room, board, tuition and plane fare were still cheaper than my original stateside option. Flying into Paris during the Olympics paradoxically made the trip even cheaper.
It was practically a no-brainer, and my husband agreed. He stayed home to work, and I made arrangements to accompany my daughter to Europe.
My friend is also a former dancer and mother of three. In her world, she is the stable paycheck, and it is her partner who does the household logistics. Her job flies her to Barcelona and Munich, and in her spare time, she started a ballet photography company. Her life looks very different from mine but she too, has it all. Wife. Mother. Artist.
On our first night, we walked away down the Champs-Élysées back to our lodging. Our teenagers walked half a block in front of us, already navigating the streets like locals. “I don’t want our daughters to make themselves small,” she said. “I want them to know there’s a bigger world and they can be a part of it.”
It is a big world, and one mother’s choice is another mother’s sacrifice. I’d love to think that we can be happy for the mother who lives her life differently from what we’d like for ourselves. But maybe we just need to start by being happy for ourselves when we live life differently from what’s expected of us.
