Circus Tricks Belong in the Circus
What skin cancer taught me about hypermobility, harm, and listening to your body.
When I was a teenager growing up near the beach, summer meant long days in the sun, baby oil on our skin, and coming home with blistering sunburns. I can still remember sitting in ice baths, my skin on fire, thinking nothing of it—we thought we were just having fun.
But decades later, my body started telling a different story.
At 25, I was diagnosed with my first skin cancer. Since then, I’ve had five more removed. Two required Mohs surgery, one of which involved a skin flap. I sobbed, terrified I’d be permanently disfigured. Thankfully, an incredible plastic surgeon helped put me back together.
My younger son kept me laughing while the surgeon removed deeper and deeper layers, checking for clear margins. That night, I underwent emergency oculoplastic surgery to repair what was left behind.
But it wasn’t just my skin that carried the scars.
What Does This Have to Do with Hypermobility?
Every day, I see dancers—and non-dancers—contorting their bodies into party tricks and “wow” poses for social media, peers, or coaches. In the dance world, hypermobility can feel like a superpower. And in many ways, it is.
But it’s also a vulnerability.
Just like sunburns, just like skin cancer, joint damage doesn’t show up right away. You can keep doing something over and over without pain—until suddenly, you’re paying the price.
Hypermobility is like a slow burn. And if sunburn is a good analogy, skin cancer is an even better one. The damage accumulates silently over time.
“Circus tricks belong in the circus.”
Unless you’re being paid to perform, there’s no benefit to pushing your joints beyond what’s safe.
The Cost of Being Dismissed
I knew for years that something wasn’t right in my body. I had chronic pain, joint instability, strange symptoms I couldn’t explain. I saw internists, orthopedic surgeons, rheumatologists, physiatrists. One after another told me I was “fine.”
But I wasn’t fine.
And when someone tells you enough times that your suffering isn’t real—or isn’t serious—you start to question yourself. I can’t tell you how many times I left appointments feeling humiliated, confused, and defeated. I’d walk out thinking, Maybe it is just in my head.
That kind of self-doubt seeps into everything. I stopped advocating for myself. I minimized my pain. I stopped asking questions. I thought I was just being dramatic or weak.
That kind of dismissal isn’t just a misdiagnosis. It’s a wound.
A Moment That Changed Me
I remember one moment vividly: I was recovering from skin cancer surgery, my face wrapped in bandages, and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. It hit me like a tidal wave.
I had ignored every warning sign.
Not because I didn’t care—but because I didn’t know better. I hadn’t been given the tools. I hadn’t been taught to respect my body’s boundaries. I didn’t know that just because I could do something didn’t mean I should.
That same blind spot applied to my joints. I was burning myself out from the inside, without even realizing it.
If I Could Talk to My Younger Self...
If I could go back and talk to that younger version of me—the girl slathering on baby oil before heading to the beach, or doing extreme backbends at parties—I’d say:
You don’t have to prove anything.
You don’t have to perform to be loved.
Protect your body now, so you can keep using it later.
I’d tell her that strength doesn’t always look like flexibility. Sometimes it looks like restraint. Like saying no. Like skipping the trick everyone’s cheering for, because you know it’s not worth the risk.
Why I’m So Passionate About This Work
Now, I’m the person who wears sunscreen to check the mail.
And I’m also the person who respects what my joints can’t do—because I’ve lived through what happens when you don’t.
That’s why I started the Bendy Bodies podcast and my newsletter, The Bendy Bulletin. I’m here to help others avoid the years of confusion, pain, and emotional distress I went through. I want to get credible, compassionate information into the hands of people with joint hypermobility and connective tissue disorders—whether they’re symptomatic or not.
My original Bendy Bodies cohost, Jennifer Milner, once said:
“The people who come to injury prevention seminars are the ones who’ve already been injured.”
Let’s change that narrative.
What You Can Do Now
💥 Don’t wait until it hurts to stop doing it. You probably already know which movements aren’t serving you. Respect that.
💥 Train smarter. Work on proprioception—your body’s ability to know where it is in space. It reduces injury risk and builds control.
💥 Strengthen your support system. Stabilizing muscles protect hypermobile joints and speed up recovery.
💥 Be kind to your body. You only get one. Love it, protect it, and treat it like it matters—because it does.
Final Thoughts
If you’re hypermobile and feeling fine—I’m here for you.
If you’re hypermobile and hurting—I’m here for you too.
This work is personal to me. And if sharing my story helps even one person avoid the pain I went through, it’s worth it.
🌱 Gentle Reminders
Protect your joints like you protect your skin.
Flexibility isn’t invincibility.
You are the expert on your body—believe yourself.
You are worthy of care, even when you’re not in crisis.
Healing begins with awareness.
With love and strength,
Dr. Linda Bluestein
Diagnosed at 60, I wish I had read this in my teens!
Thank you for this. In the 40 years of debilitating chronic pain preceding my hEDS dx, I had to powerfully keep faith with myself. I had to believe I wasn’t ok. That the abuse and neglect I got from mainstream medicine was wrong in so many ways. But this was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. It was painful and lonely as hell. Exhausting and despairing. This is why I talk about EDS as much as is reasonable. ESPECIALLY to medical staff.