Twinkle Toes

In mid-January, I started a new journey of learning ballroom. This started as just a date for Andy and me, an adventure we had talked about for years but never took steps to fulfill. It has now turned into a bit of an obsession for me, and yet another area where the therapy work is reflected back. I don't know if I could have made the leap into this new unknown without having done Journey Dance first. The time I spent learning from the JD teachers allowed me to find my soul in movement, just allow my body to move however it was called, and be present in my body in movement. It paved the way for me to be open to taking more formal dance seriously.

When I was young, I would see dancers on TV and tell my mother I wanted to be able to do that one day, but I was unceremoniously informed I was too fat, too tall, my shoulders were too broad, and I was not graceful. I assume this came from her own insecurities, but it took no effort on her part for me to believe these lies. I am learning how to extend my body out, so I take up more space, and how to look out into the crowd when doing turns, rather than cast down my eyes. I am learning to snap my hips and bravely move my body in dramatic ways. I see in real time the ways I have spent my life shrinking in what I think I could name as shame.

For the 1st three months, I would look forward to lessons, but when it came time to get dressed, I would have a bit of an internal meltdown. My body dysmorphia would immediately pop its ugly head up, leading to me feeling sick to my stomach and depressed. Once I got myself out of the door, the dark cloud would leave, and my joy could return. I have progressively gotten myself more flesh-revealing outfits, so I would be forced to face my internal judgements and beat back my mother's voice in my head. I dedicated myself so wholeheartedly to this task that for the last month, I have had none of the queeziness, and I have worn actual dance apparel.

At the same time that I am doing my work, because Andy and I are learning together, I see where his therapy work is showing up for him and where our relationship hiccups show up on the dance floor. Andy has to make a decision as the lead on the floor and then communicate that to me, while I have to release control and trust him with my body. It provides us with so many opportunities to explore how we show up in a learning state of mind together.

What feels truly magical about starting ballroom at 38 is meeting all the other folks at the studio, especially women of all varying ages, discovering how to occupy space, be confident, and be witnessed. In a time when the patriarchy is pushing GLP-1's and starving as the new sexy, finding ballroom is a medicine. Which the irony is not lost on me because I know the professional sphere of ballroom is pretty riddled with eating disorders and body image issues. But, in my little corner of the world at my local studio, the space is filled with loving acceptance, encouragement, and joy.

I have a newfound dream of wanting to be able to compete, something never in a 100 years would I have thought I'd want to do. My FYP on Instagram is filled with dance content, and I recreationally look at competition outfits. I have no idea where this may all lead, but I do know where ever it is, it's towards the version of myself I want to be in this life!