Like all performers, I have a handful of self-perceived deficiencies that weigh on me heavily.

For instance, since I was a small child I have been cultivating a smile more like a smirk to cover the gap between my front teeth, of which I have always been ashamed. (Now, decades later, all the cool Scandinavian supermodels have them, but my smile is ingrained.) When I watch back footage of my performances, I see my mouth slide into that smirk over and over, and wish desperately that a real smile was more natural to me. To combat it, I smile at myself in every mirror I see, and tell myself that it’s not weird or grotesque. It’s not easy to overcome those years of muscle memory, though.

I’ve also recently had to admit that I’m not a spring chicken, and my rather ample bosom (which arrived at age 11) is now starting to slide downward. I actually love my body, am without most of the hangups that plague my gender. For that I can thank my mother, who made 11-year-old me feel as good as she could in that awkward skin. But, you know, bosoms are heavy and they sag. So now I have something new to learn about how to carry myself to make them look as great as possible. Shoulders back just so, arms at just the right angle, belly button pulled to spine. Again, when I watch footage back, I see old postures creeping in and work doubly hard the next time to position my body perfectly atop my stilettos.

There are other things, like the fact that my hair won’t hold a curl during the rainy season. But the thing that has bothered me most about myself since starting in burlesque isn’t about what I look like at all. It’s this:

I am not a trained dancer.

I was never one of those adorable tiny girls in pink being shuttled to recitals by an anxious mother. I didn’t dabble in jazz before learning that my real love was tap, I never flirted with modern. In fact, until my 20s, I had never even been in a real dance studio, and that experience was terrible — some pert teenaged girl teaching hip hop choreography to her friends, other teens, and me.

As a performer, I acknowledge the fact that while I do not need to be a dance prodigy, my performance can most certainly be greatly improved by dance training. This is probably doubly true given the fact that I’m not naturally graceful. (The same mother who told me to ignore the mean girls who giggled about my breasts kindly reminds me regularly that my middle name is not Grace.) So I’ve always admired burlesque performers with obvious dance backgrounds, and have likewise always berated myself for lack of same.

No more. This weekend I took my first ballet class, and while I’m not going to put anyone’s pro career in jeopardy with my mad skills, I did okay. It felt good, even. I’m committed to sticking with it, and it feels like fun, not a chore.

Just making the decision to do this feels like a weight has been lifted somehow, like I’m making a huge leap forward. I can’t wait to see how it affects my performances.