I have heard recently several dance teachers complaining about competition judges who offer no praise; only corrections and criticism. These comments have gotten me thinking about self-esteem, how I was raised, how I was taught, and how I, myself, teach.

Not too long ago, I stumbled upon a video in which a young man (20-something) was explaining why, in his opinion, so many of his contemporaries were struggling with life in general. This little video was shockingly insightful. He explained that there had been research done, clearly documenting that children with good self-esteem were, in general, more successful in school, in extracurricular activities, and in life. Every parent sets out to be the best parent they can be. Every parent wants the best for their children. Every parent has as their primary goal, their children’s ultimate success. So a parenting trend developed that had as its goal, raising children with good self-esteem. Now there is more than one way that this goal can be achieved. It would seem to me, that the best way to achieve this goal, would be to instill in a child the skills, the work ethic, the discipline, the “stick to it-ness“ necessary to “achieve”. And with that achievement would come a sense of pride, reassurance in the form of praise, and subsequently the coveted “self-esteem“. This, however, is not what most parents did. Apparently, most parents skipped the “hard work” and jumped straight to the “praise”, showering their children with undeserved compliments and positive reinforcement. What they accomplished, was raising children with “good self-esteem” but this self-esteem was hollow. As these children move into adulthood with no real experience in struggling to achieve a goal or a realistic sense of their abilities, they find the challenges of adult life devastatingly difficult.

So now I sit here, reflecting back on how I was raised. More than anything else, what my parents instilled in me (like most of my contemporaries from the “baby boom”) was a strong work ethic and a sense of humility. If I did something or achieved something that was particularly well-done or noteworthy, I was praised. And, similarly, if my efforts fell short, I was told (lovingly and supportingly) that I could do better and should try harder next time. And to be completely honest, I was not the smartest kid, I was not the most talented kid, and as I have detailed in my essay on winning (https://classicalballetandallthatjazz.com/2018/07/02/winning/), I never actually won anything. I was never lavished with praise. I never heard the words “awesome“, “amazing” or “brilliant”. “Very nice”, “well done”, “good job” was what I could expect to hear for hard work that paid off, and it really MEANT SOMETHING; because I didn’t hear it all the time. Am I now a workaholic? Yes. Do I now suffer from a lack of self-esteem? Probably. I am easily intimidated by colleagues who enjoyed stellar performing careers and consequently I am often staving off imposter syndrome. No parenting style is perfect.

As I now sit back and reflect on my dance training, I realize that my two main teachers exhibited teaching styles that were reflective of the aforementioned modes of parenting. The jazz legend, Luigi, with whom I began my training, constantly praised all of his students; often telling just about everyone how beautiful, how talented, how exquisite they were. He was a brilliant teacher. I would never have had a career if it wasn’t for his teaching. Just about everything I know about pedagogy, general technique, musicality and artistry, I learned from him. But I also learned, very early on, that the compliments that he so freely doled out were empty. When I started studying with Gabriella Darvash, I was faced with a completely different teaching style. She never complimented us. Never. In fact, she often said “If I spend all of my time telling you all how beautiful you are, there is no time for teaching”. But every once in a while, you would catch her looking at you. And there would be a quiet, satisfied look behind her eyes that was cloaked in her sarcastic demeanor. And that quiet look of satisfaction meant more to me than all of the praise that any other teacher could hand out. Most of the time we only heard criticism. Most of the time she frustratingly barked endless corrections. But on the rare occasion that you got that satisfied look you, knew you were on the right track.

So what did I learn from these two different teachers? I learned that I loved to dance. I learned that I loved the process of doing the work; of doing the work, for the work’s sake. And I learned that I shouldn’t, and couldn’t, depend on the praise or the criticism of my teachers to serve as the foundation of my self-esteem.

I am constantly evaluating my own teaching. With each passing year, I am finding that students need more and more approval, praise and compliments. And with each passing year I am finding myself less likely to fulfill that need. I want desperately for their success. I want desperately for them to achieve heights that I could never achieve. I want desperately for them to have “successful” lives; whatever shape and form that success may take. And I’m trying desperately to give them the tools that they need. I often quote Madame Darvash to them; telling them that they are not to expect an endless stream of compliments. I often joke with them that I am “not interested in their feelings, only their success“.

But I’m also trying to be ever more gentle, ever more supportive, and ever more hopeful.