Hey Dance Family,
Let me keep it real with you for a moment—this journey we’re on as dance parents, mentors, and educators? It’s beautiful. And it’s tough. I’ve been doing this for over 20 years, and I’ve worn all the hats: teacher, director, performer, parent, and dance parent. I’ve seen this world from every angle—and what I’ve learned is that it takes a special kind of balance to support young dancers without stifling their growth.
And yes, I’ve also been the one in class as an adult—brand new to a style, frustrated, emotional, unsure if I’d ever “get it.” So trust me when I say, I remember what it feels like to struggle. That’s why I lead with empathy and high standards. I believe in giving dancers the space to be human and the push they need to grow.
But over the years, I’ve also seen a recurring pattern: sometimes, in our deep desire to protect or uplift our kids, we unintentionally block their progress. We misinterpret correction as criticism. We confuse discomfort with harm. And we forget that one of the greatest gifts we can give our kids is the ability to be challenged without crumbling.
Let’s unpack what it really means to be a supportive dance parent—the kind that raises confident, capable, resilient artists.
Before we dive in, I need to say this—with love:
I know you love your dancer. I know you want to lift them up, protect their heart, and make sure they feel celebrated in a world that can be incredibly demanding.
But here’s the truth:
Support doesn’t always look like protection.
Love doesn’t always mean stepping in.
And cheering for your dancer doesn’t mean shielding them from discomfort.
Sometimes the most powerful support is letting them feel the sting of a correction—and helping them bounce back. Sometimes it’s saying, “I know that was hard. And I know you can handle hard things.”
That’s not tough love. That’s real love.
1. Don’t Let Encouragement Turn Into Illusion (a.k.a. The Comparison Trap in Disguise)
At Elements, I spend a lot of time helping dancers stay focused on their own path. I’m constantly reminding them, “Worry about YOU.” But here’s what happens more often than not:
Parents aren’t comparing their child to others—
They’re convinced their child is already the best in the room. So when another dancer gets more feedback, or a different spot, or extra attention, the story becomes:
“Why is she getting praised when you’re just as good—or better?”
“Why isn’t Alana recognizing your greatness?”
Let me say this plainly:
Correction is not rejection. Feedback is not favoritism.
I see every dancer in the room. I coach based on need, not on who claps the loudest. Sometimes a dancer is being pushed because they’re almost there. Sometimes they’re not being corrected because they’ve finally nailed it. Sometimes the note isn’t even about the move—it’s about presence, effort, or leadership.
When parents start internalizing comparison, they unintentionally teach their kids that someone else’s progress is a threat to their own. That’s a heavy, unnecessary burden to carry.
Your dancer’s journey is not diminished just because someone else is also rising.
2. Let the Studio Be the Studio
As educators, we create space for dancers to stretch, to struggle, and to succeed on their own terms. That means we sometimes say things your dancer may not love hearing in the moment. But those moments are part of the process.
When parents intervene to interpret, defend, or correct what was said in class—especially in front of their dancer—it not only undermines the teaching, it teaches the child that how others speak to them determines how they should feel about themselves.
And look—I get it. There are a million ways to say something. But I said what I said because I believe in that dancer. And spending time defending or explaining my tone takes away from the time I could be investing in helping them grow.
You can’t control how people show up—but you can teach your child how to rise. That’s the kind of lesson that builds confidence, resilience, and emotional strength far beyond the dance floor.
3. Confidence Is Built in the Hard Moments, Not the Easy Ones
It’s natural to want to protect your child from struggle. But if we rescue them from every hard day, we rob them of the ability to recover. Real confidence doesn’t come from applause—it comes from resilience.
From hearing, “You weren’t fully in that moment,” and still showing up next class.
From not getting the part they wanted, and choosing to keep going anyway.
From falling out of a turn and laughing instead of crying.
Those moments? That’s where the real growth lives.
In Closing
I know it’s hard. It’s emotional to watch your child be challenged or disappointed. But our job—as parents, as teachers, as guides—isn’t to remove the hard. It’s to walk beside them through it.
So cheer loudly. Be the soft place to land. But don’t stand in the way of the stretch.
Let them fall. Let them rise. Let them own their journey.
Because the most powerful thing you can tell your dancer isn’t “You’re the best.”
It’s “You’re strong enough to get better.”
With love, rhythm, and real talk,
Ms. Alana
Founder/Director, Elements Urban Arts Collective