The lights have come back on, and the curtains are reopening. The audience thunders; you can barely make out a single face. You’re panting, but smiling widely nonetheless. You run forward and bow your head before taking your place back in the ensemble line. Five seconds ago, you thought you might pass out from exhaustion; now, somehow, you feel like you could do an entire act with no problem. You look around the audience one more time before deciding the curtains fully close and the lights dim just a tad; you can tell that the house lights are on. Everyone’s celebrating the triumph of what just happened—and yet, somehow, you feel just a bit like a part of you has died. Almost like a phantom limb, you feel an ache for something you can no longer use. It dawns on you that you won’t perform that particular piece again, that it is destined to fall out of your repertoire, only kept alive faintly in the back of your mind, when you and your friends mark it at parties or down the street on your way to learn something else.
Post-show depression.
It’s an odd feeling because it comes on almost gradually, and then all at once. You can’t quite explain the sadness and nostalgia you feel—all you know is that you’re ready to get back on stage as quickly as possible. But how do you take care of yourself in the meantime? How do you stay motivated without the jitter of a pre-show class, the frenzy of a quick-change, the marking in the wings, the rush of an audience’s applause? And worse yet—what do you do at the end of a season?
The truth is, taking classes doesn't always give us the same feeling. We all know it. That doesn’t mean it’s less enjoyable, but it does mean that the two occasions are totally different. And it’s almost useless to say that you should channel the rush of a performance into every class you take. Of course, you should, but sometimes you just can’t. Sometimes, especially towards the end of a season, you run out of steam.
The important thing is to take care of yourself and your body. You’ve put it through a lot, and it deserves a rest. Treat it to a few good days of stretching, strengthening, baths, yoga, and other things that help your body decompress from all of the adrenaline and pressure that it was just under. Release and refuel in time for the next season to start (you'll need that time to recoup, especially just in case SADness sets in).
Continue to take classes; stay warm and nimble, and don’t lapse into a phase of total disregard (however tempting it may be in those days and weeks after the final curtain). Keeping some semblance of a rhythm is the perfect way to keep your body busy, and your mind occupied.
Eat lots of delicious treats; post-show, have a meal you love and drink lots of water. Thereafter, keep your favorite healthy snacks in rotation so that you don’t throw yourself off.
Refocus on other parts of yourself; pick up a book you’ve been meaning to read. Write in your journal. Listen to some music, go to the movies—do whatever it is that you can’t during performance season. Fulfill yourself in other ways, so that you don’t lose your sense of identity simply because you’re not dancing full-time.
And finally: remember that the end of a performance means the opportunity to learn something new. You can make space in your brain for more choreography, for more improvements, and for more growth. Of course, you’ll be sad; each time you dance, you’re releasing a little part of yourself into the universe. But take your time allowing that part of yourself to return, in due time, ready to take the stage and do it all again.
Dealing With Post-Show Depression
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