Dance like everyone is watching

This weekend I went dancing. 

Which is odd, because I don't dance. Not anymore. 

When I was 3, I went to see the ballet for the first time. I fell in love. It was the nutcracker and Karen Kain was the principal ballerina. So of course I HAD to take ballet lessons. 

I loved those Saturday mornings so much. Dancing brought me so much joy. I wasn't very good. I had no talent and poor coordination. As my mom often told me. But man did I love dancing. In level one ballet (so I was about 5) I got to do my exam. I passed. Not with "exceptional". But it was a pass. 

After that I wasn't invited to take anymore exams. But I was passionate. I danced my heart out. I was allowed to take level 2 and 3 ballet classes. 

At the end of my level 3 year I was told that I hadn't passed even without the exam. I was devastated. I had to repeat level 3 while all my friends moved on to level 4. The only reason I survived was that I was a younger than my classmates, so repeating level 3 meant being with girls my own age. 

At the end of my second level 3 year I stopped taking ballet lessons. I just wasn't built for that style of dancing. My turnout wasn't wide enough. My point wasn't flexible enough. My achilles tendons weren't stretchy enough. And my ankles weren't strong enough to support myself in pointe shoes. 

Instead of ballet, I joined a jazz class with my best friend. That was mostly fun. It wasn't the same as ballet, but I still got to move to the music, to stretch my muscles, and to dance my heart out. 

When it was time for costumes though, the teacher measured our waists. In front of the class. And called out our measurements. In front of the class. I was an average sized girl. But I was convinced that I was fat because of many comments from family, because of my Mom's constant dieting, because of my Dad oinking at me when I ate. 

I was still 2 years away from developing anorexia, but I was incredibly self-conscious. And I was sure that my measurements were giant. I was so embarrassed. I quit at the end of that term. 

To replace jazz, I started taking tap classes. Tap was awesome. It didn't matter that I wasn't super flexible (even after 6 years of yoga). It didn't matter that I wasn't as graceful as my ballerina friends. In tap it was more about rhythm, technique, and bouncing. And also smiling. I loved loved loved tap dancing. 

In grade 8 I had an enormous crush on a grade 13 boy that I met. I was sure that I was madly in love with him. And that we were destined to be together (Oddly, he ended up marrying one of my good high school friends). 

This boy went to a school of the arts. So obviously I had to go there too. Even though he was graduating. 

I decided to major in Music Theatre. I prepared my audition and arrived at the school ready to sing my heart out. And more importantly, ready to fake my way through the dance portion of the audition. And fake it I did. I forgot the steps. But what I lacked in talent I made up for with enthusiasm and a big smile. 

Somehow I got in. I still don't understand why. 

For the next 5 years of my life, I learned singing and dancing and acting. I performed in several shows a year. And in all that time, I was dancing. Not well. But with gusto. And it brought me joy. Performing in musicals was fun and exciting. 

After graduation I didn't take anymore dance classes. However, I was of age. I discovered bars. Specifically the one gay bar in the town where I went to university. 

This bar was my happy place. 

My friends and I would dance all night on a packed dance floor. And my passion for dancing had found an outlet where remembering steps and performing was no longer necessary. This kind of dancing was better than all my years of lessons and performances. 

There were even nights where the dance floor was empty. And I didn't care. I would dance with abandon. It felt like freedom. Moving around that floor all alone without a care in the world. Pure happiness. 

And then something changed. 

My eating disorder evolved. My binging and purging followed by bouts of starvation caught up with me. I started to gain weight. Over a period of 5 years, I gained 90 pounds. My body was completely different than it had ever been before. 

My body didn't feel the same. It didn't move the same. I didn't recognize myself. I didn't know how to exist in this body. The more weight I gained the more symptomatic I became. My cycle of starve-binge-purge became more intense. Which only made my body worse. 

I stopped dancing. 

Bars became a place of discomfort. I felt like I was being seen and judged. Always. Fat people experience the world differently than thin people. It is assumed that we are lazy. That we only eat junk and fatty greasy foods. That we eat at fast food restaurants every day. We are judged. Commented on. Stared at. And often insulted right to our faces. 

Dancing meant being seen moving a body that I was not comfortable in. It meant people seeing this body moving. I felt like I wasn't allowed to dance. That I didn't have the right to take up space in the world, let alone on the dance floor. It felt as though my mere existence wasn't allowed.

It felt like everyone around me was thin and beautiful and graceful and perfect. 

So I haven't danced for a very long time. Years. Years of lacking the strength to be seen. Years of being self-conscious of this body that I still don't recognize. This body that I mistreat with my eating disorder cycle. 

Being in this body is a challenge. 

Being in a body that I hate makes me feel like it doesn't belong to me. So the idea of getting on a dance floor and moving while people are near me and seeing me causes great anxiety. It sends me into a panic. 

When I go out "dancing" with friends, I stand on the sidelines watching. Or I stand still on the dance floor so that I'm not alone. 

When I dance in front of people in this unrecognizable body, I feel exposed. I feel like I'm naked and fat and ugly. I feel as though everyone is watching me. 

So I don't dance. 

But ... I came up with a plan: I spent a few days painting about dancing, all leading up to Saturday night. 

I promised myself that I would dance. 

I had so much anxiety about it. So much panic. It meant having a few (or more) drinks. But I did it. I went out onto that dance floor and I danced. I mean I really danced. Like I did in my 20s. Like I did when I was thin. Like I did when my body was my body. Like I did when I wasn't afraid to take up space in the world.

I danced as if I deserved to be there. 

And it felt good. 

Be kind to yourself.

xoxo

...

Saturday morning

It's early Saturday morning and I'm sitting in Starbucks with my love, waiting for the mechanic to put on snow tires. I couldn't sleep last night. Probably worrying about the process of putting on snow tires,  dumb I know. I can't help my worries. I worry about everything. Even on this mild Saturday morning with the snow melting. 

Saturdays used to be my favourite day of the week when I was a kid. I would wake up early and watch tv. That show where they dumped green goop on peoples heads. Anyway. My mom would call me for ballet class and we would head out along the danforth.  I loved ballet class. Even though I was a terrible dancer. My mom never let me forget that I wasn't very good. But I danced with all my heart, which made up for my lack of grace and beauty. 

After ballet we would go to a greasy spoon and order vanilla cokes and vanilla danish. My mom would order fries with gravy which I thought was disgusting but I've since grown to love. 

As I grew older and my inability to dance resulted in no more ballet lessons, Saturday morning became grocery shopping day.  I would go with my mom early in the morning to loblaws. After shopping we would either go to the zellers restaurant or to mcdonalds. We would share a meal. And at zellers we would have to hide behind a post so no one saw us, my mom is a bit of a snob ... Ok, not just a bit of a snob. After our brunch we would go to the library where I would sneakily borrow slightly veiled lesbian themed books. 

I loved those Saturday mornings. These days I sleep through them. But not today. 

Today I am enjoying the early morning as I write at Starbucks sipping an earl grey tea. 

I should mention that despite my lack of coordination and grace, after I left ballet I took jazz and tap and musical theatre dance classes until I was 19. I loved the feeling of moving my body, even knowing that I had no talent. I loved to dance. 

I still love to watch dance. My best friend Gigi was a dancer, a good one. A beautiful dancer. I just lack the talent in that area.  

I'm sure you are thinking that I am being hard on myself. But I assure you I am not. Have you ever seen the Alistor sims version of a Christmas carol? Well at the end he dances the polka. Badly. My mom once told me I polka like him with my legs flailing around. And one year my ballet teacher held me back and I had to dance a second year with the level fours while all my friends moved on to level five. And she held me back from doing the exams. That was embarrassing. I think that was my last year of ballet.  At least dancing it, not watching it. 

But back to Saturdays ... 

... It's nice to be up and about instead of lying in bed pretending to be asleep. Or trying to sleep. Or drifting in an out of sleep. 

After I gave up ballet, I started taking piano lessons on Saturdays after errands. That was yet another endeavour that I didn't fully commit to. I rarely practiced and when I did I wasn't focused. So I never got to be any good. My life is full of half-assed attempts. Flute, violin, drums, piano. I gave up on all of them. 

Recently, on a Saturday, I had coffee with my piano teacher, whom I hadn't seen in twenty-three years. It was actually really nice to get to know her as a person instead of as my crazy piano teacher. 

I first saw the ballet when I was three. It was the nutcracker. And I fell in love with dance and with the story and with the character Clara, I wanted to be Clara and I wanted to be a dancer. That Christmas all I wanted was to be able to dance around the tree like Clara did in the ballet. 

My dad is many things.  He and I don't get along. He pushes my buttons and drives me absolutely insane. He is stingy and grumpy and full of advice. But he also is very proud of me and when I was growing up he would do anything for me. Now it's a chore if I ask for help. But that Christmas he wanted to make my dream come true ... So ... He nailed nails in the walls and the floor and used fishing line to tie the tree in place so that I could dance around it like Clara. I don't remember dancing, but I remember the tree. And I remember the trouble he went to in order to make that happen for me. 

I want to be that for my children. I want to do all that I can to make their dreams come true. Even if that means putting holes in the floor just so that they can dance around the tree. 

I saw the nutcracker a few years ago and they have changed it up. Modernized it. And there was no dancing around the tree. I was very disappointed. 

... Funny ... It's Saturday morning and my mom is texting me from her errands asking me if I need anything. I guess some things change and some things stay the same. 

I hope you have (or had) a glorious Saturday morning. 

Be kind to yourself, 

Xoxo

...

hoping for karen

“Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed.” 
― Alexander Pope

when i was two years old, my mom took me to see the nutcracker. karen kain was dancing the role of clara and i fell in love with ballet, with karen kain, and with the nutcracker. 

that chrismas my dad rigged up the tree by tying it with fishing line to nails he put in the walls and the floor. all so that i could dance around the tree like clara. 

when i was 3, i started ballet lessons. and i stayed in dance class until i was 19. at 5, i started to get books about karen kain, who much to my pleasure, used to sneak out of dance school for donuts and pastries. 

my mom took me to the ballet to see karen kain 3 more times and every time .... all three times!! ... the understudy danced. no karen for me. 

i find that happens to me a lot. i go into something hoping for the best and end up disappointed. so how do we deal with disappointment? how do we pick ourselves up and keep going when your third trip in a row to the ballet has an understudy dancing?

1. share your feelings. there's nothing wrong with venting about your disappointment. it's better than keeping it bottled up.

2. ask yourself how serious your disappointment is. is not seeing karen kain dance as serious as losing a job? 

3. think about all the things that you are thankful for. the reality is that your list of gratefulness will likely be longer than your current disappointment. 

4. take some time to let yourself feel disappointed. it's ok. it's a feeling and it will pass (says nosy nora). but at some point it's good to start thinking positively. you can't stay disappointed forever. 

5. Practice acceptance and we may suffer less as it is happening and notice the good things in life more. Disappointment is a part of life, but all parts of life can help us grow. We can be present and aware even in the midst of negative emotions and therefore life more fully.  http://tinybuddha.com/blog/4-steps-to-deal-with-disappointment/

i'm not saying it's easy. i'm still hoping for karen. i have high hopes for good things to come. you have nothing if you don't have hope. 

hope. hope is the antidote for disappointment.  wikipedia defines hope as:

Hope is an optimistic attitude of mind based on an expectation of positive outcomes related to events and circumstances in one's life or the world at large. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hope


here is a guide to having hope if you are feeling hopeless ... http://www.wikihow.com/Have-Hope

hope. disappointment. it's okay to feel both of those feelings and everything in between. but it's important not to dwell on the disappointed side of the spectrum. 

You've gotta have hope
Mustn't sit around and mope
Nothin's half as bad as it may appear
Wait'll next year and mope - EDDIE FISHER      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mkz-YSRAYdA

be kind to yourself, 
xoxo

...