Here it is September. The beginning of the Autumnal Equinox. This is my first post after a summer off of anything and everything artistic. Celebrating a life of change and growth. Watching my son discover new outdoor simplicities healed wounds and recharged some pretty maxed out batteries. This break also made me face something that I was denying. Because how could something you have loved and committed yourself to make you feel like this? Friends, I am talking about burnout.
As a kid, I didn’t just dance. My blog might allude to that, but dancing and theatre were only one aspect of my childhood. I was incredibly active in 4-H and FFA, serving as an officer and leader in both organizations (agricultural clubs for those who are unfamiliar). These groups provide a multitude of offerings and I probably dabbled in just about all of them! I participated in Science Olympiad competitions in junior high and high school. And I rode horses. Not just leisurely, but competitively. Sure, I was probably always more serious about dance, as I knew it was what I wanted to pursue. But I didn’t half ass my way around horses, either. In the summer, I would wake up early and go ride one horse before it got too hot and then feed the animals. I might have a dance class later in the morning. And then I would ride a different horse later in the evening after it cooled off. When I was really in the thick of it, I spent a week with one of my coaches and throughout the day rode between 4 or 5 different horses. But a lot of people don't know that about me. I was a dancer. Those details did not need to be known. That part of my life did not coincide with the artist. So, I shut it out…for a while. For the past 15 to 20 years, I have been “Nikki, the dancer”. Even my husband’s friends have acknowledged my role in the industry, though they themselves are not artists. But when I found out I was having a child, I knew that was going to change. It is an unspoken truth that once you become a mom, you are no longer who you once were before. You don’t disappear, necessarily. But it is impossible to be just ONE thing that you might have identified with previously. Because your role has changed. And whether you like it or not, that role as a mother will become the most important one. Perhaps when I was pregnant, I knew this shift was going to occur. I became a bit of a recluse at times and felt like I just didn’t know myself anymore. That has since changed. If anything, I know myself better. And part of it is because my sweet little 3-year old reminded me of something that I had forgotten. Since my son was born in 2020, a significant amount of milestones and social transitions have occurred. From Covid to my completion of graduate school, I have carried a lot of weight. Aside from my son, most of the obligations were related to the arts. Those obligations used to be my escape and provide a wholeness. All of the sudden, they became burdens. The inspiration to choreograph became a chore. And I felt like I was drowning. This was not me. This was not what I spent my life working toward. So while change is always hard, I reflect on leaving the place of employment I had for 10 years and am proud of myself for recognizing that something wasn’t working. So often, we try to push through and put ourselves through miserable situations because it is what we believe we are supposed to do. Let me also clarify that my previous employer did nothing to overwhelm or overwork me. It was quite the opposite. I struggled to let go because I had always identified with the classes or positions I had been in. In order for me to truly let go, I needed to leave altogether. This past summer, a different location and different environment allowed me to take a step back and examine what was happening. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I was burnt out. The job that I loved was taking much more than I could give. The only way to remedy this was a break. But what I didn’t realize was that my son's weekly horseback riding lessons would remind me that I didn’t have to be “Nikki, the dancer” in order to be fulfilled. Once upon a time, I was a dancer, an actress, a singer, a cowgirl, 4-H Club President, FFA Vice President, a girl who raised pigs, 4-H Princess, and so much more. Maybe acknowledging the things that used to bring so much joy can help me find satisfaction in a different way? Maybe, “Nikki, the mama” is the title that will get me back to where I need to be.
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AuthorNikki Allred Boyd (Dancer, Choreographer, Mom). Archives
March 2024
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