Now it was my turn. My heart pounded as I looked at all the faces watching me.
"I had a hip replacement at seventeen," I started. "It ended my ballet career before it really began. And for two years, I was angry and lost and pretending to be okay when I wasn't."
I talked about the grief, the phantom pain, the desperate attempts to be "normal" that just made me feel more broken.
"I thought if I could just replace ballet with something else, like a boyfriend, a different identity, a new path, then I'd be fine. But you can't replace a calling. You can only integrate it into a new version of your life."
"How did you do that?" someone in the audience asked.
"Honestly? I'm still figuring it out." I touched the bracelet Derek had given me. "But I'm learning that healing isn't about returning to who you were. It's about accepting who you are now and building from there."
"And the Roseline Method?" Dr. Morrison asked. "Tell us about that."
"It's my way of taking what I loved about ballet and combining it with what I've learned about recovery and rehabilitation. Creating something new that honors my past while embracing my present." I smiled. "It won't be the career I planned, but it might be better. Because it's authentic to who I am now, not who I was trying to be."
For the next hour, we answered questions. Some were technical about physical therapy, pain management, and medication. Others were emotional about dealing with depression, managing relationships, and finding purpose after loss.
"How did your teammates react when you admitted you were struggling?" a young guy in the back asked Derek.
"Some of them got it right away. Others took time." Derek glanced at Max. "My best friend was hurt that I hadn't told himsooner. That I'd been hiding how bad it was. And he was right to be hurt. Honesty is part of healing, not just being honest with yourself, but with the people who love you."
"Even when it's hard?" the guy pressed.
"Especially when it's hard." Derek's voice was firm. "The people who really love you want to help. But they can't if you're pretending everything's fine."
A girl near the front raised her hand. "Rosalie, did you ever think about going back to ballet? Like, trying to push through the injury?"
"Every day," I admitted. "Even now, I see performances and think 'what if.' But my body's told me clearly it can't handle that level of intensity. So I had to choose to keep pushing and risk a more serious injury or accept the limitation and find a new way to dance."
"That must have been really hard."
"It was the hardest thing I've ever done. Letting go of a dream feels like failure. But sometimes letting go is the bravest choice you can make."
The questions continued until Dr. Morrison finally called time.
"One last thing before we wrap up," Derek said, standing. "If you're struggling with injury, with mental health, with anything, please get help. Talk to someone. See a therapist. Don't do what I did and suffer in silence for months. There's no shame in needing support."
"And there's no timeline for healing," I added. "Some days you'll feel strong. Some days you'll feel broken. Both are okay. Both are part of the process."
After it was over, people lingered, wanting to talk one-on-one. A freshman soccer player admitted he'd been having panic attacks since spraining his ankle. A dancer told me about her chronic knee pain and fear of surgery. Person after person shared their stories, their fears, their gratitude for our honesty.
"You two did a good thing tonight," Dr. Morrison said as we finally packed up. "Really good."
"Thank you for helping us put this together," Derek said.
"Thank you for being willing to be vulnerable. It takes courage." He headed for the door, then turned back. "Derek, I'll see you next week. And Rosalie, if you ever want to explore therapy more regularly, I have some colleagues I could recommend."
When it was finally just Derek and me, I collapsed into a chair, exhausted.
"We did it," I breathed.
"We really did." Derek sat beside me, pulling me close. "You were amazing up there."
"So were you." I rested my head on his shoulder. "Think it helped anyone?"
"I know it did. Did you see that freshman's face when I talked about the panic attacks? He looked so relieved to know he wasn't alone."
"That's what it's all about, right? Knowing you're not alone."
