It was a Wednesday afternoon in 2006, around 3 p.m. I had just gotten back from school, and I was already scheming up ways to get out of ballet class. The week before, I had tried pretending to be asleep until 4 p.m. so, I mentally scratched that one off my list of excuses. Maybe this time I could try a headache? It felt like a long shot, but I figured it was worth attempting. I casually told my mother I wasn’t feeling great right after she picked me up, but I could see it in her eyes—she wasn’t buying it.

By 3:30 there she was, waking me up from my “headache,” instructing me to get dressed. With my defeat imminent, I stubbornly slipped into my red leotard and black tights, begrudgingly heading off to class.

Looking back, I still chuckle at how hard I tried to avoid ballet. Maybe it was my teacher, who, while skilled, was a very strict ballet instructor. Or maybe deep down, I was just being lazy. Whatever it was two years later, something shifted. I took part in my first ballet concert and that’s when the magic clicked. I fell in love with ballet. Not just the graceful movements, but the discipline, focus and the sense of striving for perfection. Ballet wasn’t just a physical art; it demanded everything from both body and mind. And for nearly eight years after that concert, I lived for my Saturday morning classes. Sure, they were two hours of intense physical exercise, but they were also two hours of mental freedom—an escape.

As I got older, life got busier and my dance routine evolved. I transitioned into adult ballet, where the classes incorporated more lyrical movements. These two-hour sessions became a blessing. Not only were they a blend of stretching, fluid movement, and good music, but they became my safe haven. The minute I walked through those studio doors, the world outside disappeared. Everything that clouded my mind throughout the week melted away in the rhythm of the music. It wasn’t just something I did, it was something that saved me. Ballet kept me grounded, focused and sane. But it didn’t end there.

During a particularly tumultuous year, when life felt overwhelming and uncertain, I realized I needed something more- a release for all the pent-up energy and frustration. That’s how I found myself in my first kickboxing class. I walked into that class unsure of what to expect. I had no idea what I had gotten myself into. But two years later, I’m still going strong, both terrified and thrilled by every class.

Kickboxing surprised me. It uncovered a strength in me I didn’t know I had. I was amazed at my own endurance—the ability not just to deal a blow but to take one. I began to appreciate the agility and resilience of the human body. Kickboxing taught me to channel my energy and to admire the precision and power it took to land the perfect punch and kick.

People often ask me, "Why ballet and kickboxing? Why something so graceful alongside something so aggressive?" My answer is simple: ballet is for my mind, and kickboxing is for my body.

Ballet nurtures my creativity, flexibility, and precision. It’s the outlet where my mind is free to explore movement and artistry. Kickboxing, on the other hand, demands strength, power, and grit. It’s where I push my body to its limits. Despite their contrasting forms, both require incredible focus, coordination and most of all, passion. Ballet allows me to channel grace and artistry, while kickboxing teaches me strength and endurance.

These two sports, as different as they may seem, have saved me in ways I didn’t expect. They keep me balanced, centered and sane. I’ve found a unique combination that has helped me stay grounded through life’s ups and downs. In a life that can sometimes feel mundane, ballet and kickboxing have become my saving grace. I can land a flawless pirouette, and I can throw a solid punch. It’s the perfect balance if you ask me, and I honestly don’t know what I would do without them.