Falling and getting back up — Zoë van der Meer’s story about resilience, growth, and finding your voice again.
In this interview series, we take you behind the scenes of the dance world—a place where passion, ambition, and challenges collide. Today, we meet Zoë van der Meer (24), born in the Frisian village of Scharnegoutum. Her journey takes her from childhood dreams to a groundbreaking documentary—a story of resilience, growth, and rediscovering her voice.
By Ika Berman
“For a long time, I thought I wasn’t allowed to fall anymore. But that’s an illusion.
Falling is part of the process.”
From Fairy to Auditions
“I started dancing when I was four,” Zoë begins. “Every Wednesday afternoon, we’d carpool to Sneek with a small group of friends. Our teacher, Berber, meant the world to us. She introduced us to the magic of theatre — we even got to perform as little fairies in Murder in the Manger. It felt like we were stars. That’s when the spark ignited. Later, when I saw all the background dancers in The Bodyguard musical, I knew for sure: this is what I wanted to do.”
“This really was my biggest dream.”
Between Dream and Pressure
“I was accepted into the pre-professional dance program. It felt like a confirmation of my dream. Long days, intensive classes — but also a lot of laughter, close friendships, and something I was willing to fight for. This really was my biggest dream.”
But over time, cracks began to show. “Every report card I received included a low grade for ‘stage presence’. What did that even mean? Apparently, I just wasn’t enjoyable to watch. And when you’re fifteen, you believe that. It hits hard.”
Despite the harsh criticism at such a young age, Zoë pushed on. Her hard work seemed to pay off when the school offered her an accelerated graduation path. “At the time, I thought it was an honor. Only later did I realize it was more about improving their graduation statistics — because that’s what brings in funding.”
“It’s crucial that young people don’t feel isolated — that they have space to grow outside their studies, even at a dance academy.”
Living in a Bubble
Her move to a higher education dance academy in Amsterdam marked a new chapter. Though she already sensed the industry’s toxic undertones, she clung to her dream of making it to the top. She started the program with fresh determination, but it quickly became clear that this would be another tough road.
“On the very first day, the school told us: ‘Say goodbye to your child — from now on, they belong to us.’ My dad looked at me and asked: ‘Are you sure you want this?’ I said yes, but inside I wasn’t so sure. Still, I felt like I couldn’t admit that. ‘This is just part of it’ — that’s what they kept telling us. If you want to reach the top, this is the price you pay. I was determined to push through.”
So Zoë left her familiar village in Friesland for the big city. Alone, with no network. “Going from Scharnegoutum to Amsterdam was a complete culture shock. I didn’t know anyone, and I suddenly felt so small in something so big. I left everything familiar behind.”
She stepped into a system that slowly consumed all her time. “We weren’t allowed to have side jobs, which meant we had almost no money and no life outside school. Everything revolved around performing within those walls. Thanks to my parents, I was financially okay, but I saw others literally collapse — from exhaustion, stress, and money worries. I honestly never understood why working alongside your studies wasn’t allowed or made possible.” “As I got older, I realized things can be different, and I’ve become a real advocate for change. It’s crucial that young people don’t feel isolated — that they can also grow outside their studies, even at a dance academy. Especially since only a small percentage of students actually make it to the top — and they constantly reminded us of that. The fear of ‘not making it’ should be smaller. Show students that there’s life beyond dance, even if you don’t succeed in this world.”
“There was constant yelling, my hair was pulled, water breaks were skipped if you failed the fitness test — and all of that was considered ‘normal.’”
From Ambition to Overload
It didn’t take long for the personal criticism to resurface in higher education. What started as small comments escalated into a pattern of structural, inappropriate behavior. “There was constant yelling, my hair was pulled, water breaks were skipped if you didn’t pass the fitness test — and this was seen as ‘normal.’”
One moment in particular has stayed with her. “I had to dance in front of the whole group without knowing the choreography, just to be told how bad I was. It felt so humiliating.”
“‘But why did you keep going?’ I hear you asking,” Zoë continues. “The truth is: we pulled each other through. We supported each other and made jokes about it, because everyone believed this was just part of it. When you’re young and caught in a system like this, you stop knowing any better. Your whole life exists within those school walls, day in, day out, surrounded by people who make you believe this is normal. And dancing itself still gives you a sense of freedom — that’s what kept me going.”
But the stress slowly settled into her body. She started having panic attacks and couldn’t sleep at night. “At one point, I was sitting upright in bed rehearsing choreography in my head.”
“The panic became so overwhelming that I ended up hyperventilating in the middle of a crowded shopping street.”
The Collapse and Turning Point
In March 2020, she collapsed — right in the middle of the Kalverstraat, Amsterdam’s busiest shopping street. “I was shopping with friends, but all I could think about was dance. I felt guilty for not practicing. Every free moment felt like wasted time. The panic grew so intense that I started hyperventilating in the middle of the street.”
Her parents stepped in. “They told me, ‘You’re coming home.’ I cried. I still didn’t want to stop, but I simply couldn’t go on. In the weeks that followed, I barely got out of bed. For the first time, I really felt how deep I had fallen. And I blamed myself for everything.
But then space opened up. And new choices followed.”
“Making that film brought me so much healing.
I wasn’t alone. And I wasn’t crazy.”
Looking Beyond the Dream
On a whim, she attended an open day for another program and decided to change course. She and her sister both enrolled in Creative Business. “Suddenly, I experienced what it was like to have a social life, to have a side job, and not to face constant personal criticism. Things could be different.”
She thrived in the new program and, during her internship at Warner Bros., she told her story for the first time. “My supervisor said: ‘This isn’t normal.’ That recognition marked the start of a completely different chapter. I finally felt seen — especially by someone from outside my world who didn’t even know me.”
Through her internship, she connected with filmmakers and storytellers. She enrolled in the Campus Doc minor, where she decided to turn her story into a documentary. “That became Voorbij de Droom (Beyond the Dream) — a film in which four former dance students share their experiences. I chose not to appear on screen myself, but these dancers represent a large part of what I went through.”
“Making that film brought me so much healing. I realized I wasn’t alone. And I wasn’t crazy. Around the same time, the major Schaduwdansen report was released — a research on transgressive behavior in the dance sector, conducted by the same team that had previously researched gymnastics. That felt like a huge validation. So many people have suffered from this, just like I did.”
The documentary struck a nerve. They won the Campus Doc film award, were invited to speak on the De Marker podcast, and were featured in Humberto Tan’s radio studio. The film is still available to watch on VPRO Makers van Morgen, 2Doc, and NPO Start. “It was the opposite of what I had felt for years: people finally listened. And the responses from fellow survivors were overwhelming.”
“Dance is about people, not just performance. Even if you don’t make it through the program, no one has the right to break you or take away your love for dance.”
Looking to the Future with Hope
Zoë is now committed to making the dance world safer and more humane. She is actively involved in an expert group on ‘education and certification’ within Dans Veilig and is working to bring about positive change in the sector.
What, in her view, needs to change? “Unfortunately, a lot: nutrition education, shorter class days, proper recovery time, paid internships, social support, clear codes of conduct, and independent, trustworthy contacts.
But above all: the ‘old guard’ needs to develop a more open mindset. Dance is about people, not just performance. Even if you don’t make it through the program, no one has the right to break you or take away your love for dance.”
And her love for dance?
“I’ve never regretted my choices. And although I haven’t taken any dance classes since, I hope I’ll dance again one day. But that takes time — and therapy. I definitely want to rediscover the joy of dancing. Who knows — maybe I’ll make a second film.”
Her message?
“For a long time, I thought I wasn’t allowed to fall anymore. But that’s an illusion. Falling is part of the process. And so is getting back up — if you’re given the space to do so.”
Watch the documentary ‘Voorbij de Droom’ (Beyond the Dream) here:
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