I nearly didn’t go to my ballroom lesson last night.
As soon as I started making moves to get ready, all the usual buzz killing demons popped by and had their say.
‘You keep on messing up, don’t go and make an arse of yourself’
‘The teacher doesn’t like dancing with you, so you must be a klutz’
‘How many times have you tried dancing and never got beyond average? You have no focus, quit already!’
‘The men don’t want to dance with you, you’re too old!’
‘You had chilli for lunch, you can’t breathe that in peoples faces, it’s not fair!’
Their voices all come at once (that’s demons for you, no manners….) which disorientates me, then I end up roaming from room to room, trying to get ready, trying to figure out what I went in there for in the first place, and fighting the rising panic within me.
I managed to get out of the door, heart pounding, with seconds to spare, and only just arrived in time for the warm up.
But I am so glad that I went.
I may not be the best, most focussed, most coordinated dancer in the world but when I’m not pressuring myself and allowing myself to enjoy it, it brings out some kind of joy in me that I don’t understand and can’t explain. In yoga, whilst I understand the principles/concept of chakras, I have yet to find/feel mine, but one things for sure, if they ever do make their presence know, it’s bound to be through some kind of dancing.
Even the discomfort of being in close proximity to men again has turned into nervous jokes and banter, and giggles when we go wrong, which has to be an improvement when compared to ironing board rigidity and resistance.
These are beginners classes that I’m attending too, which means that for much of the lesson I am lumbering around to too slow music, occasionally bumping feet and crashing into others couples, but when it flows, and there is a meeting of synchronised bodies and minds, something bubbles up inside me like champagne and my spirits soar, and all my theories of wanting to buy an abandoned cottage on a remote Scottish island somewhere and live out the rest of my existence with sheep, hens and goats and NO HUMANS go flying out of the window.
And toward the end of the lesson, when we get to do a bit of jive at the right speed, and my previous Ceroc lessons come to the fore, it was like WHOOSH, not only bubbles in my core, but fizzing foam shooting up and through and out of the top of my head BANG at 60 mph like a cork flying through the air on the last bong of New Years Eve.
The comparison from the way I felt less than two days prior to that night was astounding. In that moment all of my pain was gone.
I know that dancing brings me joy. How it looks to others is irrelevant.
Enough of the self hatred and self sabotage.
I must keep it up this time.