Inside the ballet classes helping people with dementia rediscover confidence

Sunlight pours through floor-to-ceiling windows at the English National Ballet’s headquarters, illuminating a vast rehearsal studio usually reserved for professional dancers. A pianist begins to play. Colourful scarves rise into the air. Laughter ripples around the room as participants stretch their arms and sway to the music. Some remain seated, while others stand. One woman closes her eyes and moves gently to the rhythm.

For a moment, it is impossible to tell who is living with dementia and who is not. At English National Ballet’s Dance for Dementia programme, there is one simple rule – everybody is a dancer. That choice of language is deliberate. Nobody is referred to as a patient. Nobody is defined by a diagnosis. Instead, participants are welcomed into one of the country’s most prestigious dance institutions and invited to take part in something creative, joyful and deeply human.

The scene feels a world away from the way dementia is often discussed. In Britain, around one million people are now living with the condition, making it one of the country’s biggest health and social care challenges.

Dementia is not a single disease but an umbrella term for a range of conditions that damage the brain, affecting memory, language, behaviour and the ability to carry out everyday tasks. While memory loss is the symptom most associated with dementia, many people experience changes in confidence, communication and relationships long before memories begin to fade significantly. For families, the diagnosis can alter the course of everyday life. Among the dancers gathered in the East London studio is Vivien Munde, 80.

Three years ago, she was diagnosed with dementia. Today, she lives in residential care in West London, while her husband, Mike Shaw, 73, remains in the family home. Every Monday, he makes the journey across the city to collect her before bringing her to dance class. The routine has become one of the most important parts of their week.

“It’s very emotional,” Mike says quietly. Dementia, he explains, is “always changing” and “very unpredictable”. The disease has altered the life they once imagined. Everyday decisions require more planning. The future feels less certain than it once did. Yet Monday remains a constant.

“The consistency is fundamental,” Mike explains. “The routine and the people who attend and the volunteers – that’s the most important thing.”

Vivien agrees. “The emphasis is not on the ballet,” she says. “The emphasis is on participation in a group. The ballet is just a vehicle for personal interaction.” A former teacher, Vivien spent her working life educating others. Losing some of that independence has been difficult, which is why opportunities to connect with others matter.

“It’s really important to participate in community groups,” she adds. “The interaction with different people is really valuable.”

Dementia does not only affect the person diagnosed. It reshapes relationships, routines and identities. One day someone is your spouse, parent or partner. Gradually, they also become the person you care for.

Many people living with dementia report feeling isolated as symptoms progress. Familiar activities can become harder to access. Confidence can decline. Social circles often shrink. Families find themselves navigating care systems, appointments and practical challenges, while trying to preserve the person they have always known beneath the diagnosis.

In response, a growing movement has emerged around the idea of helping people live well with dementia. The principle is simple: although dementia changes a person’s abilities, it does not erase their identity, creativity or need for connection.

The philosophy is at the heart of work led by Laura Harvey, Head of Creative Programmes at the English National Ballet.

“Dementia is a cruel disease,” she says. “But just because you are living with a neurological condition, it doesn’t mean that you don’t have an artistic voice.”

Laura’s connection to the condition is personal. Her grandmother lived with dementia, a fact that helped shape her commitment to creative health programmes.

“We’re not doctors and we’re not medics,” she says. “But what we do recognise is that dance has significant benefits for people living with dementia and their carers.”

English National Ballet began exploring dance for neurological conditions through its Dance for Parkinson’s programme in 2010. As understanding of creative health grew, so too did its work with people with dementia. Following the company’s move to East London in 2019, the programme expanded. During the pandemic, live online sessions reached 270 care homes across the country. The in-person programme running today began in 2023 and continues to grow.

What makes the sessions unique is their setting. Participants are not gathering in a hospital, care home or clinical environment. They are welcomed into a professional ballet company.

“When people come in, they just feel a sense of being somewhere creative,” Laura says. “People with neurological conditions will have lots of hospital appointments and functional things to go to. Coming to English National Ballet is a creative experience.”

Classes are inspired by the company’s repertoire, from classics such as Swan Lake and The Nutcracker to contemporary works. Participants might explore a character, learn adapted choreography or create movements inspired by a story. Props, flowers, scarves and live music bring themes to life.

Associate artists Marie Lawrence, Rachel Elderkin and Reina Okada spend hours preparing every term. Before each new programme begins, they undergo specialist training with English National Ballet’s artistic team. Each teaching team spends around 16 hours adapting material to suit participants’ needs while preserving the spirit of the original repertoire.

“Storytelling and creativity are integral to the experience,” the team explains. “We encourage creative play to access movement, conversation, engagement and self-expression.”

Being part of the creative process, they say, allows people living with dementia to maintain a sense of identity and agency. It also helps build community. That community is visible everywhere in the room. Volunteers greet participants by name. Dancers encourage one another. There is no pressure to perform and no expectation that anybody gets the movement “right”.

“We never force participation,” the associate artists explain. “There is no right or wrong way to take part.” The live pianist responds constantly to the atmosphere in the room, adjusting pace, energy and mood.

A few seats away sits Mary Amoako, 86, who attends the sessions with her daughter, Sue Agyakwa, 56. For Mary, the music is one of the highlights. Diagnosed with dementia two years ago, she recognised the symptoms before doctors did. A former nursing lecturer and midwife who had worked on dementia wards herself, she knew the warning signs.

“I diagnosed myself before the doctors,” she says matter-of-factly. “I knew there was something wrong with my memory.”

The diagnosis, however, was difficult to accept.

“This is a disease that has no treatment,” she says. “I know what the outcome is – a progressive one.”

Yet she refuses to let the condition define her. Instead, she talks about nursing, midwifery, teaching, sewing her children’s school uniforms and raising a family. She recalls dancing when she was young and even winning a dance competition.

“I used to be a dancer,” she says with a smile. “I like ballroom dancing. I just love dancing.”

Although dementia has made everyday life more difficult, the classes reconnect her with that part of herself. She has made friends through the programme and looks forward to seeing familiar faces every week. She remembers volunteers who have gone on maternity leave and asks after their families.

For Sue, watching her mother participate is emotional.

“It’s very centred on the people,” she explains. “It adds to the sense of, ‘I can do this. I can join in.’”

The impact is visible every week. “By the end of the session she’s a lot more relaxed,” Sue says. “She’s more interested in people.” Watching her mother reconnect with something she loves is powerful. “It’s a joy to see her do something she really enjoys.”

The associate artists have witnessed similar transformations across the programme. One participant spent weeks sitting quietly without joining in. Nobody pressured him to participate. Then he asked why exercise and music might benefit him.

The team discussed the evidence and explained how movement could support his wellbeing. The following week, he joined in more actively. Several terms later, he has become one of the group’s most confident and vocal dancers. \Other moments stay with the instructors too. There have been spontaneous solos, impromptu songs, stories inspired by memories and participants who suddenly reveal unexpected creativity.

As the session comes to an end, dancers gather for tea, coffee and biscuits. Conversations continue long after the music stops. Volunteers chat with participants. Carers exchange stories. New friendships are formed.

Outside, trains rumble and the city rushes on. Inside, there is laughter. Mike waits by the door while Vivien says goodbye to friends she will see again next Monday. Soon they will begin the journey back across London.

Tomorrow there will be appointments, care arrangements and all the realities that come with a progressive condition. But for 90 minutes, those realities have not been the centre of the story. Instead, the focus has been on music, creativity, friendship and joy. And as dancers collect their coats and prepare to leave, it is hard not to notice that many stand a little taller than when they arrived.

Not because they have forgotten their diagnosis. But because, for an afternoon, they have been reminded of everything else they still are.