The "Fat Girl" in the Mirror (a message to my biggest fans)

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Trigger Warning: This post is deeply personal, raw, and may be difficult for some to read.

Photo: Melanie at Universal Ballet Academy, Kirov School, Washington DC, 1991

Mel Musings 8/9/25: The “Fat” Girl in the Mirror

At only 14 years old, I lived alone in a dorm, for my 10th grade year in Washington D.C. My parents were 3,000 miles away on the other coast.

I had just completed the Joffrey Ballet’s Trainee Program - an eight-week Summer Intensive in New York City. Afterward, I earned something few dancers my age ever receive—a full scholarship to study with the Kirov’s Universal Ballet Academy. It was an honor and an achievement that came at an unimaginable emotional cost which I’m still healing from….all these years later.

I was a 10th grader navigating two worlds: daytime academic study at Bethesda-Chevy Chase High School, keeping my grades high and learning bits of Russian language, and afternoon/evening training for five or more hours under one of the most grueling classical ballet regimens imaginable.

For those who may not know, the Russian ballet instructional program is extremely strict. They are known for whacking dancers with a ruler. And yes, I saw that happen.

UBA ranked dancers by leotard color. Mine was emerald green. I was 5’5” and weighed under 100 pounds—my lowest point was 94. And yet, I stood in front of the mirror every day, convinced I was “fat.” My body had curves, and in my mind, that was a curse. Still, I could out-pirouette many of the long-limbed dancers beside me, my core strength unmatched, my heart on fire every time the music began. I performed with joy and passion while others looked hollow or miserable. But in ballet, that didn’t matter—because my body didn’t fit someone else’s ideal.

One particular day is burned into my memory. My instructor, Madame Morkovina, walked into the student dining hall as I was eating a single 90-calorie fat-free yogurt—the only food I’d had that day. She took it from my hands, threw it into the trash, and said something so vile I won’t repeat it here. No child should ever hear words like that.

The many months that followed were hell: starvation, illegal diet pills, dizziness, fainting spells, isolation, suicidal thoughts, and relentless self-hatred.

But I survived. I came home. And I swore an oath to myself—I would never judge a dancer by the size or shape of their body.

So let me be perfectly clear to anyone who has accused me of “body shaming.” You’re wrong. You’re not just wrong—you’re insulting every ounce of pain I went through to make sure no dancer in my care would ever experience what I did.

Look at the photos from C.R.O.W. productions—dancers of all shapes, sizes, and abilities, all celebrated, all loved. That didn’t happen by accident. It happened because I built it that way.

Dance is for everybody. Every. Body.

My mission with C.R.O.W. is clear: to help my students reach their full potential. Not to crush their spirit to fit a mold, but to nurture it so they can soar.

If you can’t see that, it screams more about you than it ever will say about me.

If my deep scars protect even one young dancer from feeling the way I once did, then they’re worth every bloody battle.

I know who I am, I have worked harder than any person I know to build C.R.O.W., and I don’t need your permission to keep building it.

Thank you to those who see who I am and who have stood beside me this year.

The Arts freaking matter. Your lies….don’t.