Editor’s note: In the Spring 2024 “Life Without Limits” issue of Showstopper Magazine, we reached out to seven people who showcased what it means to live “without limits” and found ways to break physical, creative, and social boundaries that stood in the way of their love of dance. Portions of these interviews appear in print, but we wanted to share their full stories with you here.
Showstopper Magazine: What does it mean to you to “live without limits”?
Arielle Elonys: For me, living without limits is more about finding a way to make the limits work in my favor. Before my accident, I signed on to choreograph a short film for RedBull. I then used Google Meet with the director and producer to cast and audition dancers from my bed while in a back brace. For rehearsals, I hired another talented dancer and choreographer to be my body. I had physical limitations, but I didn’t let them stop me. It just made the process look a little different. That film premiered at Red Bull headquarters [in September].
Life will always have limits. The challenge is how will you handle those limits. Will you let it stop you? The process might look a bit different than expected, that’s okay, keep going. Anything is possible, you just have to allow space for creativity and change.
Showstopper Magazine: You recently got in a car accident that resulted in a major back injury. Can you tell us that story?
Arielle: Last November, my whole world changed. I spent the day shooting a blanket commercial with my brother. We had this idea for a girl to be dancing around her apartment with a blanket really playful and athletic. I was jumping, doing handstands, back walkovers off the couches, etc. Truly though, if I am being 100% honest, I was being really hard on myself. I was having an “off” dance day. I tried not to let it show but I wasn’t happy with my performance and felt like I could have done better. When we wrapped for the day we had dinner then I was off to my oldest brothers house where I was staying while I was in Austin.
On my drive home, I was on a highway entering a suburb of Austin on a cascading slow down when a teenage driver made an illegal left turn into me. I tried my best to maintain control of my car. The next thing I knew, my car was totalled, now facing on coming traffic. My mom was on my bluetooth car phone and heard the entire accident, including me screaming then the collision and silence. Immediately after the crash, I was struggling to breathe. I knew something was wrong. I begged my mom to call the police with the little breath I had. I always share my location with my family so my parents were able to call police and give them my exact location.
Several people in the nearby businesses came running out when they heard the wreck. They yelled to me from the side of the road “Are you okay? Can you get out?” I took a breath and tried to keep it together and said “I am scared.” I tried to open the door, but I couldn’t get out. My car was crushed around me. They ran to help me out of my car. I tried to grab my laptop bag and my valuables, but I could barely carry them. At the time, I thought it was just because I was in shock. They carried my bag and held me as I limped to the side of the road. The truck that hit me was in the ditch on the side of the road. The teenager didn’t have a scratch on him.
Before I knew it, my brother who I spent the day with arrived, I was already in the ambulance getting medical attention so he was able to take photos and handle the logistics for me. By the time I arrived at the nearest trauma hospital, the ambulance doors swung open and there was my oldest brother, waiting for me. It meant the world to me to have my two big brothers there. I was terrified. As the adrenaline from the wreck started to wear off, the pain grew. I couldn’t move my neck and my left leg was so swollen from the knee airbag it felt like my skin was tearing.
I was covered in bruises with a few cuts, but I kept telling myself the pain I was experiencing was just whiplash. I was wrong. It must have been that dancer pain tolerance. After a CT Scan and some x-rays the doctor arrived to share the results. At that point, he knew at least one vertebrae had a significant compression fracture, but we needed an MRI to confirm there aren’t any more. I immediately burst into tears. My brothers held my hands while I wept as the doctor went on to tell me that my left leg was also very injured and would put me at high risk for deep vein thrombosis due to all of the internal bleeding. I tried to hold onto the hope that the doctors were wrong, that maybe it was just an error. My MRI was scheduled for early the next morning. My oldest brother stayed with me in my hotel room throughout the night. He worked on his laptop, comforted me and watched over me while I cried and tried my best to get some rest.
After my MRI, the doctors broke the news to me that my back was broken in 3 places. To say I was devastated was putting it lightly, but there was this little voice in the back of my head that kept telling me “this is only temporary.” I am certain that voice was God. My emotions still came in waves, relentless as the ocean. I tried to believe that one day this would all be behind me, and I would be dancing again like it never happened. I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t crying nearly constantly while I was in the hospital. The nurses were my rocks and my support continuously. I had one nurse in the emergency room that would pop in and just tell me jokes every so often. They were silly dad jokes, and it was the only thing that kept me from slipping into despair for a while. After spending the night in the emergency room, a more permanent room opened up for me in the surgical ICU. It was there, in that room on the sixth floor things changed for me.
By that point, all the nurses and doctors heard about the dancer that was in the car accident and broke her back. One of the nurses that took care of me for that day, came by my room to say goodbye. His shift was ending and he wasn’t scheduled to work for the next three days. He came in to say goodbye and told me “I have loved meeting you but I hope you’re not here when I am back. I hope you are released to go home so you can start the road to recovery and get back to dancing.” I burst into uncontrollable tears. I was so scared I would never walk again and never dance again. He shook his head reached for my hand [and] leaned over so I could see him with my back brace on.
He sat with me for probably the next twenty minutes while I just wept pouring love and hope into my heart. He told me stories of professional athletes that recovered from career ending injuries. He made me believe that I could do it too. He ended by saying “I can’t wait for the day I run into you in the grocery store and hear all about how you made a full recovery and this moment that you felt helpless and hopeless was actually the catalyst that changed your life for the better.” He was my angel. He was so sure that things weren’t just going to be back to normal for me, but that they would be even better. It made me feel sure of it too.
From that moment, I needed doctor’s approval. Then I had to pass training from a physical therapist before being discharged from the hospital and starting my healing journey. It was game on, and I was determined to relearn how to get out of bed, stand up, walk, and go up and down the stairs again. Luck would have it, my physical therapist was also a dancer. With her help, I passed with flying colors, I mean I was exhausted after, but I DID THAT.
The last moments I was in my hospital room I thanked God for a second chance as I stood, sipped coffee, and looked out the window with my new back brace on. I promised I would never take my ability to stand and walk for granted again. I promised I would dance with every chance I had.
Showstopper Magazine: What was your process for recovering from that accident and returning to dance?
Arielle: The first few weeks were the hardest. I couldn’t sleep from the pain of the injury and the pain of the brace on the back of my head forcing my body into alignment. My hair started falling out. With every passing day I watched my muscles go into atrophy. I couldn’t shower because I was only cleared to go up the stairs with assistance and very very rarely. I wasnt allowed to carry anything but the clothes on my back. It was the first time I had ever been heart broken and couldn’t dance about my heartbreak. My world was shattering, burning up and disappearing into the wind. I held on as tightly as I could to the words the nurse said to me.
It’s weird going from being capable of anything to barely being able to walk. That transition and the feeling of sudden deep change will live with me forever.
Per doctor’s orders, I had to walk around every few hours so that the blood clots in my leg wouldn’t travel to my heart. Walking is extra scary when you can’t look down and any fall could result in paralysis. So, I took everything really slowly. As the days went on, I started to find comfort in the little things—my favorite thing to do and something I have continued to do since.
When I was feeling stuck, I would walk outside into the backyard, barefoot, stand on the grass, close my eyes, feel the wind and bring my awareness to how thankful I was for this body I get to call mine. As a dancer, we spend so much time analyzing and over analyzing our bodies. Over the years I know I have said many more negative things to myself about my body than positive. There I was, broken, bruised and watching my muscles, my strength seemingly melt moment by moment and I loved my body more than I ever had. How lucky was I to have a body that could hold so much trauma and make it out the other side, healing.
For the first time it wasnt about what I looked like, it was about what I was made of, grace and strength. It wasn’t long before I needed to give myself a goal, something to work towards. I decided I wanted another certification to supplement my Bachelors of Arts in Dance, and my NASM Personal Trainer Certification. I settled on AFAA Certified group fitness instructor. I figured while I can’t teach why not learn how to be a better teacher so that when I am physically able I’ll be back and better than ever. So I ordered a desk on amazon that allowed me to work while laying down. I then spent every day studying and in just a few weeks I became an AFAA CGFI. The process of reading and studying a whole textbook and taking classes online gave me purpose and direction when I felt lost. I felt so empowered but that was just the start.
I moved forward into re-learning how to accomplish day to day activities. One of my students and her mom sent me a grabber tool to help me pick things up. I was able to use it to do my laundry for the first time. At that time, that day, doing my laundry felt like the most physically demanding thing I had ever done. I vividly remember putting my clothes in the washer (which took about 30 mins) going back into my room and uncontrollably sobbing. Partially because I was getting my independence back and partially because the simple act of putting my clothes in the washer was now one of the hardest things I had ever done and weeks before I took that ability for granted. Relearning day to day tasks felt like that for a while; both a victory and a loss. Just folding clothes required breaks because I was so out of breath and exhausted.
Read more: Meet the rest of our “Life Without Limits” features.
Showstopper Magazine: What are some of the most creative changes you had to make while you healed? (Including choreographing a senior solo with a teddy bear)
Arielle: I have always had the ability to choreograph in my head. For as long as I can remember, I have been able to sit down, close my eyes, and see it all, every detail. However, since I was a dancer before a choreographer it always made sense to get into the studio and feel out every movement. After the wreck, I was only able to gently walk around. I had strict doctors orders, no bending, twisting, or lifting. So the choreography part was nothing new for me, but when it came to actually teaching the choreography, I had to get creative.
It took extra planning before working with my senior dancer. Thankfully I have been training her for years, so we were able to build on the foundation we already created. I knew there would be sections I would struggle to try and describe. So for those sections I ended up using the teddy bear my niece gave me in the hospital. The teddy bear became my “body” as a bonus we were able to giggle through a hard moment. The silly sweetness offered by the bear cut the tension for me and allowed me to meet that moment with gratitude in a way I dont think i could have otherwise.
After months of living off of my savings, I knew I needed to find a way to create income. I began offering really in-depth critiques for competition routines. I missed judging and this gave me a way to connect to that world and encourage dancers on a more in-depth personal level. After offering this to studios and dancers, I plan to continue to do so through my website this year. It ended up being a joy in my life and a way to encourage the next generation of dancers on a more personal level.
I developed a “Choreographer’s Bundle” I sold on Etsy. Basically, it’s a workbook for creating staging and ultimately streamlining choreography and skills work for teachers. I received a lot of praise on that and will most likely release another round of bundles in the coming months.
Showstopper Magazine: You shared some of that recovery on Instagram. What was the hardest part of that journey? Where do you feel like you’re at with it now?
Arielle: After achieving my Group Fitness Instructor Certification, I switched gears to retraining my body. Once I was able to remove my brace, my neck and shoulders weren’t moving. I started with working towards achieving day-to-day mobility. There was a good period of time when I couldn’t even turn my head. That process alone took me about a month.
Once I was able to walk, lift light objects, and perform basic household chores, I knew it was time to start dancing. I started with giving myself a ballet barre. I went into it feeling so positive. I confidently thought I would be vulnerable and film the process. I knew it was going to be physically demanding, but I wasn’t prepared for how I would emotionally respond. I’ve heard from mental health professionals for years that trauma is stored in the body. That day I experienced that to be undeniably true. I felt like a stranger in my own body. It didn’t take long for the tears to start. I had a whole breakdown right in the middle of this moment that I thought would surely feel magical and triumphant. Don’t get me wrong, it was transformative. I needed that release. I needed to mourn what had happened to me, what happened to my body, and what happened to the plans I had for my life before the wreck.
The months that followed felt impossible. I think I’ve always heard about the journey of perseverance and training being glamourized. When I was in the hospital bed I imagined a Rocky-like movie montage of me fighting to get my life back and training every day. Turns out life is messy and healing is not linear. I had my good days then I felt like I would take 5 steps backward. The one consistent thing I had was my faith and the words given to me by my ICU nurse. I told myself over and over “this is only temporary.” That gave me the space to feel sad when I needed to but still keep fighting.
Here I am, less than a year from when I broke my back in three places and I am dancing again. I do still struggle with the limitations my body still has that are lingering. I still remind myself that it’s only temporary, but now I can look back and feel so proud of how far I’ve come.
Showstopper Magazine: How do challenges in life affect your perspective on dance and your life and work as a dancer?
Arielle: This might be my favorite and most exciting question. This experience has opened my mind to possibilities I never considered. I think for many years being a professional dancer had a very specific path. It often meant moving to a big city like New York or LA and hustling constantly for opportunities. This experience made me realize that because of the birth and growth of the internet and the changing market due to the pandemic there is now space for something different. Life as a dancer can be 12-hour set days, flying all over the world to perform and teach, but it can also be living in a small town, having space for yourself, and creating your own opportunities, all at the same time.
Before the wreck, I didn’t see a path forward as a dancer outside of the typical dancer life. The wreck gave me the time to research the entertainment industry and how it’s changing (for the better, I think). I have some lofty plans for the future with a newly discovered sense of “anything is possible.” I’ve realized that at this point, the only person holding me back is me. If I am creative enough and flexible enough to look at life from a few steps back, the things that feel unattainable become accessible. There will always be challenges, but everything, with time, is solvable. The answer is there. Just don’t rush it.
Showstopper Magazine: What advice would you give to someone trying to overcome their limits or break barriers?
Arielle: This experience was unlike anything I’ve ever known. I have always felt fiercely independent, and for the first time, I couldn’t do anything on my own. The only thing I had control over was what I gave my mental energy to.
I would tell them to do the same. Focus on what you can do, and anything you can’t change let that guide your path. For the moments when that path ahead feels blocked or a challenge feels insurmountable, take it step by step. If the process is going slow, there is a reason you’ll only know why once you have arrived at the destination. Give yourself space for breakdowns, turns out life is not a movie montage and the messy moments often feel like they will never end, but everything comes to an end eventually. Just give it time.
Keep up with Arielle: @arielleelonys
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