When I was seven I stopped dancing

When I was seven years old, my mother enrolled me in a ballet class at the local YMCA. I was pudgy, and a bit clumsy, and not very good, but I wanted to be a ballerina so badly because that’s what all the girls in my class were doing, so my mom signed me up.

I remember the day of the recital. I was in a pink leotard and chiffon skirt. All of the other girls were blond and wore black leotards. We were spread across the floor in two lines, arms in position, ready. When the teacher played the first notes on the piano, I closed my eyes, opened my arms and began to turn…and immediately bumped into one of the girls in my line. I opened my eyes and realized to my absolute horror that I was turning the wrong way. All of the other girls were turning one way and somehow I was turning the other. I froze, standing there while the other girls danced. I couldn’t move. I felt all of my pudginess and awkwardness and failure like a giant weight that kept me from even taking another step. I don’t remember how I made it through, but at the end of the recital I burst into tears and swore to myself I would never dance again.

And I didn’t. When I went to parties I would stand to the side and kind of sway, but I would never go in the middle. At my prom I sat at my table drinking punch and eating appetizers while my friends had a great time on the dance floor. I never set foot in a dance class. Even though I had a great voice and loved to perform, I stopped auditioning for musicals if they had a dance component.

Can you relate to this?

Maybe it’s wasn’t dance for you. Maybe there was a teacher who told you that you couldn’t sing. Or marked up your first poem with a red pen. Or maybe another kid made fun of the way you dressed. Or maybe it was something you did to yourself—stopped yourself from engaging in creative expression because you believed you weren’t good enough, or wanted to protect yourself from being made fun of. Or maybe other things in your life took priority and you just stopped making the time.

Whatever it was (or is) I want you to know that your creativity matters and it’s not too late.

By the way, I finally did dance again. It was twelve years later, when I was a sophomore in college at a gathering of all women, and someone put on some music that touched me. I don’t think I was even aware that I was  “dancing.” My eyes were closed, and I followed the sensation in my body and began to move. I didn’t suddenly become a “dancer.” Writing and sound are still my primary forms of expression. But feeling free in my body and not caring what other people think about how I look when I move has been instrumental to my creative practice.

What was it that shut you down creatively? And how did you move through it if you did? Let me know in the comments.