I used to struggle with my weight in my early 20s, believe it or not. After I graduated from my ballet school, where I spent nine years of my life — my entire childhood and teenage years, through puberty and into early adulthood — I received my first contract in Paris. With so much pressure and specific weight guidelines written into my contract, my mind became constantly focused on one thing: how much do I weigh?
I was always naturally skinny, and with so much dancing and that amount of stress from a very early age, I never had to think twice about what or how much I ate. I was a ballet child, raised in the studio, spending my weekends in the theater. I had never been on a diet or counted calories until I signed my first professional contract.
That is where it all started — my obsession with food, weight, and exercising. I stopped listening to my body and began ignoring its needs. I wasn’t gentle with myself. I guess when you are a dancer, you rarely are. But up until that point, I had never starved myself. Suddenly, there I was, counting calories and days until the next Sunday — our “weight day.”
Some days I would eat only a piece of salad or an apple. Other days, I would “reward” myself with an entire chocolate bar or a box of cookies. The irony? I wasn’t losing weight. I was actually gaining it. On my days off, I would go out for amazing dinners at fancy restaurants — those were the only times I truly ate. Sometimes I barely drank water because I believed it would make me heavier. As a result, my body retained water and looked swollen. I was traveling a lot during that time, and changes in food, climate, and jet lag did not help at all.
I struggled for a few years until I finally realized I was exhausted from doing this to myself. I think I stopped because I reached a point where I would rather have left the job I loved than continue restricting my body from food. I simply couldn’t do it anymore. I believe my body has a natural ability to protect itself, and before I became truly sick, it said “no.” I paused and finally listened. I was lucky enough to regain control before things went too far.
I began eating regular meals again, and I noticed I was no longer craving sugar or carbs in the same desperate way. I forgot what it felt like to be constantly hungry — and that is not a pleasant feeling, as you can imagine.
Once I started eating normally, my metabolism changed. Everything began functioning naturally again, and ironically, I started losing weight. I returned to my natural body shape — the one I had lost a few years earlier. I also realized that I never truly loved sugar, meat, or heavy carbs as much as I had convinced myself I did. Since childhood, I always preferred fruits and vegetables. When I was starving, my body made me believe my preferences had changed. But hunger can make you do and crave things that are not aligned with what you truly need.
It has been over a decade now, and I am genuinely happy with my body, my diet, my metabolism, and the way I nourish myself. Along with that balance came improvements in my internal health, skin, hair quality, and mental wellbeing.
Don’t make yourself suffer the way I once did. I am grateful I stopped when I did — before it was too late. Do yourself a favor and truly listen to your body. Everyone has different needs. There is no universal right or wrong way — only what is good or bad for you. Too much or too little of anything is rarely the best choice.
Listen carefully. Your body will help you find the right balance in diet, movement, and lifestyle. Be gentle and kind to yourself — and always be grateful for what you have.
FINDING A PerfeCT Place And PoWER OF OUR MIND
I have always believed that life is too short to spend most of it in one place. We are living in a time when the world feels smaller than ever before — not because it has shrunk, but because our courage can now carry us further. If we truly want something, if we are brave enough, curious enough, and determined enough, we can begin again anywhere. It is not easy — but it is possible.
When I was fourteen, I wrote a simple sentence in my diary: “When I grow up, I will move to Paris.” There was no strategy behind it. No map. No guarantees. Just a quiet certainty. Five years later, at nineteen, I was walking the streets of Paris with my first full-time dance contract in my hands. I was decorating my tiny apartment, learning the rhythm of a new language, sipping champagne in dimly lit Parisian bars, and building a life that once existed only in ink on paper.
I have been fortunate — yes. But I have also worked for it since I was ten years old, training, sacrificing, dreaming with discipline. Dreams may begin with desire, but they survive through commitment.
Since 2003, my life has unfolded across cities and continents: Paris, Las Vegas, Singapore, Palma de Mallorca, Lisbon, Los Angeles, New York. I have worked in Italy, Slovenia, Croatia, Morocco, throughout the Caribbean and the United States. Each place gave me something different. Traveling is one thing; living somewhere is another. To stay long enough to understand a culture, to learn its language, to feel its seasons — that changes you.
Paris was love at first sight. Singapore fascinated me with its elegant contrast — East and West in constant dialogue.California opened my heart and expanded my creativity. Las Vegas gave me belonging — the unspoken bond between performers who share the same stage and sacrifice. Mallorca felt like a quiet exhale. Portugal revealed beauty in hidden corners and warmth in its people. New York challenges and surprises me daily — it never allows you to fall asleep inside your own routine.
And still, there is more. So much more I have not yet seen, tasted, or felt. I often feel torn between my hunger for movement and my longing for stability. But perhaps they are not opposites. Perhaps home is not a fixed address, but a feeling we carry with us. I have tried to build that feeling everywhere I’ve lived — creating comfort out of the unfamiliar, turning temporary into meaningful.
Traveling deeply is not for everyone. Some people are inspired by the idea but rooted in one sacred place. And that is beautiful. But there are others — like me — for whom the world feels porous, without hard borders. For us, home is not where we were born or where we settle permanently. Home is wherever we allow our hearts to expand.
I do not know where I will eventually land. Perhaps I never truly will. The world is too vast, too layered, too alive to promise stillness forever.
Maybe we are not meant to stop.
Maybe we are meant to keep moving — not to escape, but to become.