20 Years, Finding My Center

Today marks my 20th birthday. That feels surreal to say out loud. For someone who has spent most of her life in motion—as a dancer, a performer, and someone constantly chasing growth—it is both humbling and eye-opening to pause and reflect. This milestone doesn’t just mark another year; it invites a moment to truly acknowledge how much has shifted within me, around me, and through me. 

As I sit with this moment, I realize I am not only aging in years but also in how I approach my craft, my body, and my sense of self. There is a delicate balance I am learning to walk: honoring the achievements and energy of my younger self while embracing the transformation that comes with time, experience, and change. The years I’ve spent growing, both as an artist and as a person, have reshaped my view of what it means to be strong, to be resilient, and to truly understand my body’s needs. There’s a shift from simply pushing forward to moving with intention, and in that, there is so much power. 

Looking back, there was a time in my life when everything felt aligned, even if it wasn’t always easy. In high school, movement didn’t come effortlessly, but it felt like home. My body wasn’t invincible, and there were plenty of days I pushed it past its limits. Still, it kept showing up for me. I didn’t recognize it then, but there was a quiet resilience in the way it carried me through, even when I was running on empty. I remember the long rehearsals, the sore muscles, and the exhaustion that seemed never-ending, but somehow, I kept going. I pushed through because it was what I knew, and I didn’t question it. I took for granted the way my body adapted and responded to the demands I placed on it. 

The body that once seemed unstoppable asks for more: more care, more intentionality, more patience. It no longer responds with the same immediacy or force as it once did. Now, it is about the quiet moments of reflection before taking action, the awareness of how my body feels, and the deep understanding of its needs. And in this slowing down, I have had to reevaluate what strength really means for me. 

Strength, I have come to learn, is not found in force or perfection. It is not about holding onto what once was or trying to recreate a version of myself that no longer fits. Strength is about meeting yourself exactly where you are. It’s about being honest with yourself about your current reality, whether that’s physical, emotional, or mental. It’s in the way I move today, not out of habit or instinct, but with intention. Not to prove anything, but to feel everything. 

Learning to work with what is, rather than fight for what used to be, has challenged me more than any routine ever could. The resistance to change, to slowing down, is hard to accept when you’ve spent so many years pushing yourself to go faster, to be better. But it has also taught me that real power lies in adaptability. Strength is not fixed, but fluid and growth is nonlinear and deeply personal. 

At 20, I no longer define my artistry by the intensity or the extent of my physical performance. Instead, I find strength in my awareness, in knowing when to rest, when to lean in, and when to let go. I find peace in knowing that the strongest version of me isn’t the one chasing the past, but the one embracing the present. Here’s to entering this new decade, rooted, resilient, and still dancing.