Dear Mrs. Catriona,

It's been nearly eight years since I last stepped foot in your dance studio, and yet I still think about it, and you, nearly every day. I have many regrets, one of which is leaving at 15 instead of staying throughout high school. I miss you dearly, and I figured it was about time to write a thank-you letter.

Mrs. Catriona, you deserve far more credit than you receive. I was broken when I came to you. I was 13 years old with a heart that had been ripped apart ferociously by my previous dance teacher. She showed me no mercy, and I grew to hate the art that I formerly identified with so closely. I came to you in a last-ditch effort to reignite my love for dance. You did teach me how to love dance again, but you also taught me so much more.

You taught me how to be confident.

You had patience with a six-feet-tall dancer who was far too thick and bulky to ever make it as a professional ballerina. You knew I wouldn't go far, but you never told me that. You never expected anything but the best from me. My height and my build were not an excuse. I was expected to hang with every five-foot-nothing, one hundred pound dancer in my class. I found confidence because I realized that my size didn't matter to you, and therefore, it shouldn't matter to me.

You taught me how to work hard.

I quickly grew used to walking out of your classes dripping in sweat. I came home, iced down my ankles, and discovered new bruises every day. My calves never stopped hurting, and I was always sore, no matter what. I ripped out half my hair trying to take it out of a slicked back bun, and I have callouses on my feet that will never go away. I'm proud of all my battle scars because they represent an art that I desperately loved. I worked like a dog because I loved dance tremendously, and I've carried that work ethic with me--in college, and beyond.

You taught me to be a passionate dreamer — and to chase my goals.

I started to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could be something one day. Dance was a door that closed for me, but because of the lessons I learned in your studio, I wrote a book--and published it myself. I graduated from a college I attended on a full scholarship in two and a half years. I interned at a Fortune 100 company. All of these achievements were once dreams and goals of mine. You were a large part of the success I experienced because you were one of the people in my life who most propelled me towards high achievement.

You always believed in me.

Even when I didn't believe in myself, you told me I could do anything. You made a conscious effort to encourage me, even to the point of going on diets with me whenever I was struggling with confidence in my body. You didn't allow me to grow discouraged with myself. You always pointed me to what you knew I could be--you expected greatness from me, as an individual, because you believed I would be great. Dance or no dance.

You held me accountable.

If the dance move I performed was bad, you told me. If it was lovely, you celebrated with me. You pushed me towards greatness and you made the path clear. Sure, you stepped on me so that I would get my splits. But, I got my splits. One time, in particular, you were pulling all the smaller girls up by their leotards if they weren't making an effort to jump. When I laughed at you and told you that it would be impossible to give me the same treatment (as I was larger than everyone in the class, including you), you grabbed a wooden broomstick on the wall and looked at me with a victorious grin. "Maybe not," you replied, "But I can swing this under your feet and knock you over if you don't jump higher."

I jumped really high during that class. From then on out, my leaps were powerful and lovely. You held me accountable and expected greatness, because you knew what I was capable of. Now, I leap for the skies.

Thank you.

Thank you for taking a broken 13-year-old girl and making her feel worthwhile again. Thank you for loving her.

Thank you for loving me. I love you, too.

Love,

Chrissy