When I look back on my life, one of the biggest things that has formed the person I am today was my high school drill team, and since then, I have always wanted to tell my former coaches how they affected me, even to this day.

So here I am, candid, and ready to write a letter to my former dance coaches.

Dear Coach A,

When you asked me to join your drill team freshman year, I was genuinely shocked. I had only just begun dancing, and I hadn’t ever considered myself near good enough. But you convinced me to try out, and ever since then, it has always been my suspicion that even though I wasn’t very good at the time, you always saw something good within me.

After not making the team the first time around, a fire was lit in my heart, and dancing became a passion. Coach A, I never would have found that passion if you had not convinced me to take a leap of faith.That year, I worked harder than I ever had to earn a spot on your team. My hard work paid off in the end, and I had finally made it.

Being on the team was a whole different world. I found myself standing next to girls that had danced all of their lives, an intimidating feeling when you've only danced for two years. I felt insecure, but you encouraged me to keep on working, and that’s what I did. I worked and I practiced, and while I will be the first to admit that I never was your greatest dancer, I began to gain confidence. I was so happy dancing, that I was glad to wake up every morning at 5:00 a.m. to go to your practices.

While there were routines that I was cut from for not having the technical skill, you always encouraged me to keep going, to keep getting better. As I began to better myself as a dancer, I began to be moved from the back of the routines to the middle, and then to the front. I was competing in dance competitions, and performing at the Dallas Cowboy's stadium for football playoffs, and I had never had more confidence in myself.

You had such a positive impact in my life; you didn’t just teach me how to dance, you taught me how to say “yes ma’am,” and how to be on time to everything (I still tell myself “on time is 5 minutes late”). You taught me how to problem solve, because when your false eyelashes are blowing off with the wind, you still have to get on the field and dance. You taught me how to dance with confidence, how to live with confidence, and most of all, you taught me to always remember to “make good decisions.”

And then you left, and my passion went with you.

Dear Coach B,

I still remember my first pep rally with you, where I was placed in the front, because it was a routine that we were still using from Coach A. I danced in front of the entire school with so much confidence, and I hadn’t made one single mistake. I thought that I had finally proven myself.

Then we went to dance camp, and you began to move me more toward the back of the routines. You switched me out with girls that were younger than me, a feeling that was always so degrading. As the year went on, I found myself closer to the back of the routines, and my confidence fell apart. I was working so hard and didn’t know what I was doing so wrong.

With my new found place in the back of the routines, I began to get so critical of myself. I found it so hard to even remember the routines because I was so in my head. My passion was fading, and it was hard to make myself wake up at 5:00 a.m. to go to practices that now made me miserable.

And then I found myself trying out for the dance that would be performed at my senior homecoming pep rally. Coach B, the moment you cut me out, I lost every ounce of love that I had for dancing. I had to go to class after that, but keeping myself together was impossible. I had to lie to my teacher, telling her I was going to the bathroom when I really ran across the entire school and cried my eyes out in the dance locker room.

And then the day of the pep rally came. It was the last homecoming pep rally I would ever have, and I had to sit on the sidelines of the gym, watching my best friends dance together. I don't know if you ever even noticed this, but I began crying in front of the entire school. I asked my friends that sat in the audience if it was noticeable, and with hushed voices, they said "yes."

There is just something so heartbreaking about missing such a huge part of your senior experience.

And that was the day that I decided I was done. I couldn’t drop dance until the semester was over, so the days dragged on as I had to force myself to practice. I couldn’t care anymore because caring hurt way too much. I was stuck, and I was miserable, and I was passionless. And then the semester rolled around, and I quit before I could be cut from one more dance.

And in that moment, I expected to feel sorrow, or regret, or even any amount of sadness. But Coach B, all I felt was relief. I quit your team, and I never looked back.

So here is what I have to say to both Coach A, and Coach B.

If either of you ever read these letters, there is one thing I need you both to understand. I need you to understand that you are coaching young, impressionable high school girls. To them, you genuinely hold the key to make them or break them. They look up to you, learn from you, and they trust you.

As I have navigated through college, far away from this high school experience, I have found my confidence back in increments. But to this day, there is still something inside of me that won’t let me ever step on a dance floor again.

Trust me, I’ve tried.

Sincerely,

Your former dance student