Dance Me Free

Growing up, I thought I was the most clumsy, clutzy, uncoordinated person ever. I actually skipped out on P.E class for most of my grade school education, especially high school, because I didn’t want to face that awkwardness in me, or let more of my peers see it.

While most kids couldn’t wait to run around outside for recess, lunch, or sports days, I couldn’t wait for the bell to ring to come back inside. I actually hid in the bathroom from time to time during “free play time”, feeling more restricted than liberated or playful, especially in my body.

What I didn’t realize was the same way that other kids who might have been skipping out on academic subjects were falling behind in those courses, I was getting worse at physical education and sports because I was skipping out on any opportunity to practice or make them more familiar to me.

I didn’t think of physical education as something that you could train at or get better at. I mean, if I was struggling in science or math, there were tutors or teachers I could go to for extra help after school if I needed. But who ever heard of coaches who could catch up a kid in P.E.? So, I just figured if I wasn’t good at it, that it wasn’t for me. That it WASN’T ME. And unknowingly, I took on that identity- that I was the non-sporty one.

I didn’t know that this, along with being shy, and quiet, and more academic (probably greatly influenced by my wanting to stay in and not be in environments where my coordination and physical strength and agility could be tested), were actually personas, ways in which I could show up, but that they were not the fullness of who I really was.

I didn’t know that the personas I walked into classrooms, or gyms or playgrounds, or social gatherings with were only a smidgen of how I could be or react or present myself. That there was a whole other range of ways of being that I could pick from, and that these parts were not fixed but fluid.

I didn’t know I mistook certain personas as my true essence only because I wasn’t exposed to situations where I could practice being different to them. I mean, maybe other kids could have been doing sporty, outdoorsy things with their parents and siblings outside of school because they grew up with those kind of activities in their daily lives. So it wasn’t a far stretch for them to take on the active, sporty, athletic persona. Whereas my not growing up around sports, except in P.E. class, might have contributed to how unsure I felt in those atmospheres. Yet, I just assumed those other kids who seemed to be having so much fun and looking so natural in sports were just made to do them and I wasn’t.

It didn’t dawn on me that maybe those same athletic kids felt out of place in some academic settings that I felt “better” in. But I just felt more familiar with studious activities because I grew up watching friends and family members running businesses or studying for their degrees or having office jobs. I just thought that was what people do. Just like the other kids around me thought shooting hoops and tossing a ball or swimming in a lake was what people do. I didn’t think about how I hadn’t given myself a chance to have a relationship or connection to my body or sports the way that the other kids might have.

All I knew was that the more I was the last to be picked for sports teams, or the more I kept striking out in baseball, or the more I was scared of just catching a ball, or the more I felt like I was hyperventilating even thinking about running around a track, the more I kept avoiding any of these body centered activities. I had resigned myself to being the academic, nerdy, one, more into her books and studies rather than athletics.

until…

dance showed up.

Though dance involved all the things I was scared of, or thought I couldn’t do, I wanted to learn it and be a part of that world. I loved watching others communicating and expressing with their bodies in dance performances and social events. But more than that, when I would get little tastes of what it felt like in my own body, something new felt awakened in me.

Connecting to the music and the floor, and finding fun ways for my hips or shoulders or arms to move that I had never explored before, was exhilarating. Add in the partnering aspect of it, where I could feed off of another person’s lead, and I was hooked. Dance was giving me some of the play and freedom and even camaraderie that I felt I had lost out on as a child. Little did I know it was also waking me up to the muscle memory and fitness that in the past, I thought I couldn’t pick up. Dance made me feel more alive. It had the potential of being my first “sport”, if I allowed it to.

But unknowingly, I was still carrying my old personas- of not being sporty or coordinated or able to express with my body- into every dance class, social and dance floor I went into. I also tried learning dance from my head. After all, I had embraced the persona of being the studious, focused, academic one, but not the athletic one.

No wonder I gravitated towards the instructors who really broke down the components for me systematically, almost mathematically. I felt lost in the classes where dance teachers talked about ‘just feeling it” and being organic and fluid and “listening to your body”. What did that even mean? I would ask myself. I hadn’t built that kind of trust with my body. So I continued to approach dance through intellect and structure. That was something I thought I could rely on.

But when I would compare myself to others in class or out in socials, I was so envious of how effortless, free and confident they looked. I felt like I was trying so hard, going to more classes, taking private lessons, attending workshops; yet, my fellow dancers who didn’t seem to be needing that many hours of concentration, help or lessons, seemed to be advancing much faster than I was.

Fellow dancers. The thing is that I didn’t really think I was one of them. I didn’t believe that I was really a dancer. THEY were, but I wasn’t, was what my subconscious was telling me. And my body believed it, or just felt my resistance to it being able to guide me. So I started seeing “proof” of my beliefs. Welcome back the personas of my childhood.

Even though I was in my 30’s while giving this whole dancing thing a serious try, no matter how or who I learned from, I couldn’t fight the demons from my past. I didn’t even know about personas or how strongly I had been holding on to them for so many years. I even tried changing dances, thinking maybe the first or second or third dance style wasn’t the right one for me and I would find the right one. But the dance style wasn’t the problem. I was, or what I believed was available for me.

I had convinced myself that if I was the bookish, shy, introverted one, that meant that being a vibrant, charismatic diva on the dance floor was not a viable option for me. That I couldn’t be both studious and sporty or expressive with my body.

I wish someone had told me, or showed me, I could be many things, many qualities, even ones that seemed to contradict one another. That we actually should be flexible in how we show up in our lives, depending on the circumstances. That the once slow runner in me wasn’t closed off from picking up speed or agility later in life, especially in dance. That just because I was softer spoken or quiet on some days, doesn’t mean I couldn’t be confident and carefree in front of others in other environments. It’s what makes us human- these different layers of being. It gives us depth and dimension. It allows us to react and adapt, grow and learn.

What I learned is that if you catch yourself saying or even thinking the words, “I am always the one who…”, or “I am never the one who…”, it is very likely you are living from a persona.

The story I told myself in the past was, “I am always the slowest or the least athletic or the one who never gets chosen.” The funny thing is that I don’t think other friends, family members or dancers around me thought of me the way that I saw myself. They weren’t thinking about me much at all, just because they were focusing on themselves and having fun, and possibly battling their own personas.

Even the qualities we think are great can get a stuck in a persona that doesn’t serve us in the best ways. I used to believe that I never got angry. And I think I might have actually taken pride in that one. But it took me years to realize that although being calm or considerate can be admirable, believing that I wasn’t the angry one came from my fear of anger, especially my own. So I would shove it down, and ignore it. I would let others talk to me in angry ways, and never set healthy boundaries for my needs. I would also attract angry personalities in my life because they could feel that they could take their anger out on me and not face any repercussions for it.

I thought I was doing so much good by not being like them. But that anger that I felt was real, and I should have acknowledged it as a part of who I am and what I’m allowed to feel and express. Instead, I pushed it down, into myself. And that energy started eating away at me from the inside. It caused me to get sick, it caused me to hold resentments, it caused blockages in my energy body so I was disconnected from the fullness of who I really was.

I also thought I was always the giver. But that meant I was robbing myself of being able to receive. I took pride in being a good listener. But that meant I wasn’t taking opportunities to speak up and be heard. There are times in my life when I thought I was always the compassionate one. But that meant that I put myself down whenever I took time out for myself or when someone was not honoring my time. I put their needs ahead of mine because I believed I I was never the selfish one.

But these traits are not static. They are meant to move and flow like a dance within each of us.

And even though I wasn’t seeing myself as a dancer, especially when I first came into dance, Dance gave me permission to allow my full self to come out. Bit by bit, step by step, body roll by body roll, Dance encouraged me to embody a range of emotions and personas that I would see and envy in others but at first I didn’t think I could be.

Practicing being sly, or slithery or pouncing or fiery in tango seemed very unlike me. But I was doing it in dance class every week, in a safe and open and fun environment. Being sassy, flirty, and experimenting with creative arm styling in salsa helped me get to know the woman in me who had so much to say with her body. Being fluid, surrendered, trusting, and letting go in zouk helped me find those places of trust inside and around me in my everyday life. I was no longer the girl who always planned and was methodical. I could also be the one who was carefree and could go with the flow.

No wonder I liked going in and out of different dance styles. Sometimes, some dances and dance partners called for being graceful, gentle, smooth and fluid, while others brought out the grungy and gritty, and sharp and bold one in me. Dance taught me I don’t have to just be one persona and stick to it. In fact, some dances allowed you experience many personas all in one dance.

The music would call for it, your body would call for it, and dance was teaching me to listen to what my body wanted say and how it wanted to say it. Dance doesn’t force you to only look at yourself from once side, as one kind of person. It gives you the space to be the sexy, sultry one, the angry, wild one, as well as the whimsical, curious, childlike one. You don’t have to hide parts of yourself in dance. In fact, Dance says let those parts of you out. They are all you. Let’s explore them, and get to know them. Get to know and share the fullness of all that makes you you, including being a dancer.