This is an update to a post about my complicated relationship with dance that you can read here.
I love expression with movement, but I hate the body dysphoria that comes with it. Dance makes you vulnerable. Whether you’re on stage with a group or alone, there is a moment when people are looking at you, following the story you’re telling. Jumps, leaps, turns, and extensions are parts of the story that people gravitate towards, and you want to do the piece justice. And you want the flowers, applause, and comments that boost your ego a bit.
Over the past five months, I challenged myself to get over those fears by taking a performance class at my local college. Open to all levels, I was sure that the Saturday ballet classes I took over the last few years would help me ease back into the skills I learned over 20 years ago (the math doesn’t add up, I know).
Your body ages with you
My body has changed since I was a teen. There are muscle groups I forgot about, flexibility I took advantage of, and, well… my back is my back. Nonetheless, I didn’t want to be that person who said, “I can’t do this.”
I wanted to do a solo for a while because other than a talent show. I knew what I wanted it to look like in my head, what I wanted to wear, and how I wanted to express myself on stage. Well, whatever I thought I was going to do in my head, my body looked different, in a negative way, and it got to me.
“I can’t do this.”
“You can and you will. Now let’s do it again.”
And so I practiced—again, and again, and again.
Showtime, I guess?
By the week of the show, I knew I had to face whatever fear was in front of me. The truth of the matter is, no one is laser-focused on me. No one cares if I’m not skinny or if I’m not an American Ballet Company-level dancer. The audience wants to be entertained, and I was going to give that. With every move practiced, every facial expression I learned from Making the Team: Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, and the encouragement of my dance fam.
On May 2nd and 3rd, I danced for 8-year-old Clarissa, who was fearless and didn’t care that she was the only Black dancer in her class dancing to Gloria Estefan’s “Turn the Beat Around.”
I danced for the 14-year-old Clarissa who couldn’t perform in the Fish Camp pep rally because there wasn’t a uniform that fit
For 15 year-old Clarissa who wanted her director to see that despite not being the smallest person, the kicks were still high, the splits were still splitting
For the person who struggled constantly to prove that her size didn’t prevent her from doing anything, who constantly felt the need to explain why she was the size she was, that it wasn’t her fault and she’s doing everything “right.”
Step by step, turn by turn, I danced for myself, had fun, and didn’t care if I wasn’t perfect.
Dance is wonderful. Dance is awful wonderful.
