Dance Me Free

“Go expand in places where you used to shrink.”~ Tasleem Laila

“Really exaggerate the movement,” said Nina, one of my salsa instructors years ago, “Make it bigger!”

We were doing some styling moves and I was trying to get used to the motion in my body. It felt awkward and so unlike me, to bring my hips into such a wide, circular movement, or reach my arm out further than I even thought it could go, or lift my chest up so high and forward to initiate a body roll.

Nina made it look so effortless, flirty, fun, and it definitely got people’s attention when she did it.

“I’m scared it will look too big, that I’ll over do it,” I replied, in frustration, and I’ll never forget Nina’s response.

“YOU can never do it too big, Tas,” she said with kindness, and her cheeky wink, but making sure to emphasize the word YOU. And she was right. What I thought could be overkill wasn’t even a smidgen of what I imagined it to be, In fact, when I tested the movements out in the mirror, I was embarrassed to see that they were hardly even noticeable.

The way I was moving didn’t feel or look awkward because I was trying to make them TOO big, they felt awkward because I wasn’t even taking up any space with them. It’s like I was scared to use the space around me and I definitely wasn’t aware of the space I could create within me.

That moment, and those classes, along with Nina’s awareness of my playing small, and wanting to help me out of that, were pivotal in not just my dancing, but in other areas of my life.

I realised that my body had been so used to shrinking, and almost hiding, that I couldn’t even feel how much I had shrunk myself to the point that my “big” was actually tiny, miniscule.

From a very young age, I had been very quiet and shy, believing that was just the way I was. I was also petite in size and very slim. I hardly ate anything. I couldn’t even finish a little McDonald’s hamburger, and I remember people having to eat what I had left on my plate.

My poor mom would worry about me, always asking if I had eaten. And this continued even as I got older. Not only was I not eating what was on my plate, but I was also not speaking out about what was on my mind and what I truly felt in my gut.

It took me a long time to realize that actually, there were a lot of strong personalities around me, around us – family, cultural community, friends. They knew what they wanted, weren’t afraid to speak it, sometimes shout it loudly and aggressively, and they seemed to have big appetites, not just for food, but for what they felt they deserved. These people didn’t seem to have any qualms taking up space- physically, mentally and energetically.

Somewhere along the way, my nervous system was jarred from all of this. I retracted because I was so tuned in to others that I felt the underlying pain or fear or anger that these people were carrying. What looked like confidence, I could sense was coming from some wound. That their “bigness” was masking something painful.

I didn’t want to be like them, or carry that pain. But I also wanted to make things easier, quieter, more peaceful for these louder personalities. I started associating being loud and taking up space with pain. So I became quiet, small, to balance things out. Little did I know how much I was taking myself off balance so that I was no longer feeling my own weight, my own presence.

If others were going to take up a lot of space, I subconsciously thought it was better for me to be contained, reserved, and maybe even curb my appetite. As if I didn’t need as much as others. Everyone else was grabbing their fill of life, so I kept to my corner, to give THEM more space, not realizing I was robbing myself of my own right to take up space and be heard.

Coming to dance was quite an irony for someone who didn’t think she needed much space. Dance is literally learning to shape and mold the space around us and in us, to show audiences, onlookers, or even ourselves that there IS space. And to learn creatively how to express through that space and bring awareness to the space around us.

From the very outset of classes, I was learning to notice where my weight was, to shift in that weight, and to be weighty. To acknowledge that I even have weight and to make use of gravity. To be present, and to literally feel my body – using all my senses- in that presence.

In tango, this was crucial for our partners to be able to know which foot they want to place us followers on, to be able to prepare the next move, or execute the fancier boleos or ganchos effectively. Momentum came from the stability of that weight, and this allowed the free leg to move with fluidity. Presence was important as there wasn’t time to think about this. It had to be felt in that moment.

From my time in Buenos Aires, I was also learning concepts like the “oil and water” of tango– where the lower body was more dense like water, and gave us grounding. And there was a spaciousness between it and the upper body, which was supposed to be lighter, like oil. Not only was I learning to use the space around me, but also to become more aware of the space I could create and expand inside me.

In salsa, my weight helped determined whether I would make a tight turn with a smooth landing or lose balance. And even in solo dances like house or hip hop, being grounded and into your weight, to show the impact of gravity, or to even play with it, was so important in creating a personal style and textures. This also helped in being able to be quick on your feet for fancy footwork and transitions.

Sometimes, we were in big dance studios or halls, and I remember feeling intimidated by the space. Like I didn’t know what to do in it. Other students would come flying or sliding in, sure footedly moving from corner to corner, reveling in the freedom of the space around them.

I was scared to feel what moving so far and fast would be like. It was so different from the contained corners I didn’t even know I had enclosed myself in. So to stretch out and discover how much space I could create from my body, reaching up, or circling low, or moving my hips to the left while my arms went as far right as they could in opposing motion, felt so foreign to me.

But the more I watched others do it, the more my body wanted to be able to do the same. And the more I was encouraged to find the ways that my body enjoyed moving within spaces, and filling spaces, the more it became something I craved.

Partner dance in particular helped me really feel into this because when I was connected to my partner, and they were comfortable moving in space, I had no other choice but to follow them; otherwise, I would be left behind, or break the connection. And feeling that energy of someone else who knew how to use space allowed my body to take on and activate that same energy within me. I was given the chance to feel the movement through someone else who was well versed in moving with openness and expansion.

I also realized it wasn’t always just about traveling big distances on spacious dance floors. The expansion could be felt internally. And space could be created where there first appeared to not be any. Whether in a small dance studio, or a crowded milonga, or a salsa festival full of out of towners, it always amazed me at how some dancers knew how to open up spaces because they knew they deserved to have a space.

When done well, this did not involve pushing or overpowering other dancers. Instead, it actually meant finding space within you first, recognizing your own body’s right and ability to take up space, and then carving out space on the dance floor as if you’re just another piece of the puzzle. A much needed piece.

And these dancers did not compromise their postures or try to squeeze themselves awkwardly into spaces while doing this. In fact, they made themselves bigger, in terms of their assuredness and weight, protecting themselves and their partner. A parting would seem to magically be opened up for these dancers because they did not cave themselves in, but instead, stood in confidence and fit themselves seamlessly into the rest of the crowd.

Dance showed me how much I was letting myself cave in, thinking it was somehow making other people happy, in dance and in other areas of my life. But shrinking myself wasn’t serving anyone, and it was getting to the point where I was almost making myself invisible. Dance made me feel seen again, and allowed me to feel my weight, to feel that I AM HERE.

The more I would go to milongas or social dance nights and experience this opening of space, and my own weight, the more it became familiar to me. It became my new normal. And I could feel how vital and enlivening it was; what I had been missing. Where I at first thought I would get trampled on because of all the people and movement on the dance floor, I started stepping into those spaces being able to expand, not shrink. Less afraid to be seen, and more afraid to not show up. Less worried about how I looked, and more willing take all of me on the floor, rather than leaving parts of me behind.

My movements, even in smaller spaces, became bigger, not always in size or distance, but in intention and with less holding back. Nina’s words and observation made more sense to me as dance allowed me practice exaggerating my movements. It was not an exaggeration to overdo things, but to find balance after I had been underdoing everything for so long. And the more I felt into those spaces and places, the more those movements became natural.

It no longer felt awkward or selfish to use the space around me, to feel my weight, to speak up, to be heard and to expand outward rather than give my space away to others. Dance taught me that there is space enough for everyone. That taking up space doesn’t mean you’re robbing someone else of it. In fact, I realized that like Nina, in allowing myself to move “bigger”, I was actually helping others take up more space and show up more fully as well.