My Life in Nutcrackers - My Yearbook

My life is measured in Nutcrackers. Well, not literally—but by performances of The Nutcracker every December. For eleven years, from ages 7 to 18, I spent the year dreaming of my next role, practicing steps, and memorizing routines for our annual performance of this beloved ballet. My company, Sawnee Ballet Theater, led by the fiercely creative Joan Kall Stewart, performed The Nutcracker each Christmas season. For me, there’s something comforting about the repetition of the music, the familiarity of the choreography, and the well-worn costumes. 

I vividly remember at age seven my very first Nutcracker performance as an angel in Act 2. I was so excited to float through the fog and hit all my cues perfectly—even then, my inner perfectionist was fully present! My mom did my makeup with red lipstick (which doubled as blush) and carefully helped me with my hair. I joined the other little angels, all of us dressed in white gowns with wings that inevitably smacked someone in the face. It didn’t matter; I was beyond thrilled to be part of the production. Even in a small role, I felt the joy of contributing to something bigger than myself, something that only worked when everyone did their best.

After months of rehearsals, we finally moved into the theater. Theaters have a unique atmosphere; no two are the same, yet they all share a mystical, fairytale quality. An immense velvet curtain, heavy and regal, sweeps inward and outward to reveal the stage at curtain call. Tall velvet wings line the sides of the stage, allowing dancers to enter and exit with a magical disappearing effect. A cold draft inevitably gusts through backstage - making knit legwarmers and zip-up hoodies (to avoid messing up your perfect hair) a must. 

In those early years, I stayed in the little girls’ dressing room, eagerly awaiting the day I’d join the “big girls” in their space - a rite of passage. Dressing rooms were never quiet; they whirred with overlapping conversations, last-minute reviews of choreography, and the occasional mini back or foot massage to ease pre-performance tension. That shared time - laughing, preparing, and supporting each other - remains one of my fondest childhood memories. It was a space where we belonged, where we didn’t have to pretend to have it all together. It was also a safe haven for tears -- whether from disappointment or overwhelm--where friends were always ready to help you regroup with hugs, costume fixes, and words of encouragement.

Getting ready in the dressing room

After emptying countless cans of hairspray, using dozens of bobby pins, and perfecting winged eyeliner, we would take turns helping each other zip into our costumes. Finally, we were ready. Ready for the stage. Bright, warm lights beamed down with an intensity you could feel, like facing the sun. Beyond the lights lay a soft darkness, pierced only slightly by the faint glow that illuminated a few rows of faces in the crowd.

The music began, and muscle memory took over. Our arms, legs, and feet moved in perfect synchronization with the choreography we had practiced for months. In my mind, I kept track of the music counts“1-2-3-4, 2-2-3-4”while scanning the stage to ensure we danced as one cohesive unit. Snowflakes floated down, landing on our faces, sticking to sweaty skin, and occasionally being swallowed. (Best not to think about how that snow was swept up and reused year after year!)

Offstage, serene expressions disappeared as we gasped for air, feeling as though we’d run a marathon. But, there was no time to rest - costumes had to be changed, pointe shoes re-tied, and blisters bandaged before the next scene. Act 2 always arrived faster than expected, and we hid in the wings, waiting for our next cue in the music to enter the stage. Was it nerve-wracking to perform in front of 300 people? Absolutely. But I wasn't on stage as myself, I was on stage as a character who was one part of the whole big story of The Nutcracker.

Between shows, there was downtime to decompress, laugh, grab a milkshake, and refine any steps that had proved challenging before the next performance. The week of shows always flew by, leaving me longing for more chances to perfect my roles. But each year brought new opportunities -- sometimes familiar roles, sometimes new ones. Each performance challenged me to grow, not just as a dancer but as a person.

Time between showings

The years I spent performing in The Nutcracker shaped me profoundly. The teamwork, dedication, and love for the performing arts that I cultivated during those years remain central to who I am today. From the bloody blisters and sequined costumes, it was more than a hobby—it became a foundation for the person I’ve become. Flipping through old photo albums with photos from each Nutcracker have become my own kind of yearbook. Each year a little older, each year another unforgettable set of performances.

**Although these photos do have poor resolution (due to a lack of proper camera equipment for low-lighting photography), I still wanted to share these photos because of the warm memories they bring up for me. A few years into college, I went back to my hometown to watch the younger girls - now all grown up - perform The Nutcracker. Being backstage again was overwhelming, a sense of belonging hit me - the same sense of belonging I had felt years ago as a young girl.