Not many people have lasted as long as my dance teacher through the years. She came into my life during a time when I was dealing with a lot of things, some of the hardest and most uncomfortable times. Six years is a long time, and when I first entered her studio I can honestly say I didn’t expect to be there for long.
To clarify, this wasn’t some intense studio where all the girls are rail-thin with long wispy hair up in a bun and leotards that hung from their bony frames. This studio was warm, and full of people of all body shapes, sizes and styles. People were encouraged to wear what they wanted as long as they were comfortable. The music was diverse, and there was only one instructor-Ms. Erin.
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I was twelve, awkward and incredibly sheltered and she blew into my life full of color, laughter and life. It was amazing. So naturally, I was scared of her. I stood at the back of the class, kept my arms crossed when we weren’t working on combinations and silently judged everyone around me. The biggest issue I struggled with during dance was the judgement, I imagined it from the girls around me, from my teacher, but the harshest criticism came from my own mind. I couldn’t watch myself in the mirror, and felt uncomfortable through the entire 45 minutes.
Looking back, it’s amazing I stuck with it. Every year after it was one class, ballet, and then ballet technique after the first year. I never knew how much I needed that class. It was something routine, it was exercise, it was entertaining, and it forced me to look at myself from a different perspective: dancer. Looking back, this was the best thing I could have done for my mental health-granted my attitude within the class was clearly unhealthy, but having a regular event promoting exercise and self-love once a week became life changing. And mine did change, my life that is.
I’m not entirely sure which year it was, but if I had to guess it would be somewhere around year four or five. My life was changing in high school, I had changed my intended major, decided on a college, gotten a haircut and braces-and suddenly I was becoming someone very different from who I was in 2012. I remember sitting on the floor after class one night feeling like complete garbage. Putting on my shoes my mental illness was trashing my performance, my effort and I was comparing myself to other dancers in the class who had lightyears of experience ahead of me. I remember thinking to myself, “Then why do you go to dance class, if you’re just going to feel awful afterwards?” and I had an answer, because I love to dance.
This past May I performed a solo, TWICE. I vowed to myself after my first recital, in which I performed a group dance twice (once for each recital), I would never, ever, ever, ever, perform a solo. It would just be too much. Through the years my reasoning changed, but my promise didn’t. Until January 2016. It started small, and I felt the pressure of learning my normal group dance, and senior solo at the same time but it happened-and it was incredible. It still triggers a panic attack if I think about my mistakes during the performance, but in time I’ll be able to watch the DVD. But that is beside the point-I had the confidence to walk out onto a stage, alone, with my adorable little Ms. Erin on her bouncy ball grinning up at me, because we both knew how incredible it was that I was standing there-something I truly believed would never happen.
I still struggle with self-love, with being judgmental, and with being a decent dancer, but I am so much healthier, mentally, than I was six years ago, even three years ago, even since just last year. So-thank you Ms. Erin, because I know you, my life is changed for the better.
