Dancers with Anxiety -- I See You

Dancers with Anxiety – I see you

 

Tl;dr: I have a shit load of anxiety and I cry all the time and take a lot of Xanax. If you are a dancer who freaks out a lot too, you can always find refuge with me and I’ll be there with you.

 

I’m writing this on my airplane back to Dallas from my trip to Virginia for East Coast Classic. It’s been an emotionally tumultuous time, where I’ve ended up more than once feeling simultaneously fulfilled, terrified, and full of dread. As a person who has struggled with intense anxiety for many years, I wanted to crank out a blog post about it while the feelings were still fresh.

 

Plus, the cunt sitting in front of me on the plane is sleeping with her window shade up and the sun is literally shining directly in my eyes. So, I got nothing else to do for my 5+ hour flight back to the Bible Belt.

 

Fucker.

 

Anyway.

 

I’m 24, and I’ve been teaching and performing professionally for a little over 3 years. Not very long, all things considered. As a ‘baby dancer’ I thought it was my destiny to be a Belly Dance Superstar. We all know how that panned out, so even though the literal tour has ceased, I still had dreams of international stardom and living the life of a jet-setting superstar.

 

2015 was my first big year to get my feet wet with touring and teaching and traveling regularly. I had recently won ‘tribal pro’ competitions in two different states, and had bagged myself some sweet prizes that sent me traveling to other events where I could perform and teach and whatnot. And I started putting out teacher applications, cold-emailing people with a press kit, anything I could do to start circuiting.

 

I’ve written about this before, so I won’t go too into detail about everything through this process. Long story short, I learned very quickly that I have very poor control over my anxiety. If this gives you any context, I canceled on events twice in 2016 because my anxiety was so high: Belly Dancer of the Universe competition, and the Tribal Massive.

 

Yeah, I shelled out $1500+ dollars for the Massive, and the night of my flight, I had an intense panic attack. I couldn’t bear to leave my apartment. Fuck, I couldn’t get off the goddamn floor of my bedroom: I was curled into a ball, crying and shaking and hiccupping, trying to breathe when all I could manage was some pitiful hyperventilating — which, if you’ve ever hyperventilated, you know it just makes the whole panic attack situation worse. I was inconsolable for hours. I felt intense guilt for weeks, months after the event because of how much I missed out on by letting my anxiety crush me into a puddle of quivering, fluffy red hair.

 

My anxiety has robbed me of so many potentially enriching experiences. I flew to China for a belly dance event and hardly left my hotel room except for workshops — missed out on all the majesty of China because I was so scared that I stayed curled in my hotel room, napping and crying intermittently.

 

Events that I’ve attended domestically, same story. I teach my workshops, I maybe take one or two. Perform. Before the show ends, I exit the stage, I grab my shit and haul ass to home or my hotel.

 

After much self-reflection and trial and error, reading, and Xanax, I’ve come to understand a few things about myself.

 

·      I am absolutely codependent. I get scared when I have to travel alone, having no one to bounce off of when I get nervous or lonely or scared. Leaving my husband is the hardest thing I have to do any time I travel. I can barely stand him dropping me off at the airport because I am a blubbering mess the whole way there.

 

·      I have intense sensory anxiety. This manifests in many ways: Misophonia (anxiety over others’ mouth noises; for me, this is gum chewing, eating, sniffling, and heavy breathing). If you see me around with my Bluetooth headphones with the ear buds in, chances are I’m just blocking out the noises of pedestrian activity so I can function. I usually am not listening to anything, unless I’m at an airport. I can still hear you if you want to talk to me.

 

·      I don’t handle change very well. If there is a sudden alteration in plans, I will panic. This Sunday before I taught my Twerkshop, there was an emergency with the hotel room and the bank, and I completely unhinged. 15 minutes before I needed to head into my class and I was popping Xanax, falling apart, crying, hyperventilating, the whole bit. The only way I got through that was knowing that I had to. I HAVE to pull myself together because this class depends on my competence and mental stability right now. I know my face was still red and blotchy as I headed to the ballroom, but I managed to get it together just in time.

 

·      I am terrified to talk to people, especially people I WANT to talk to. Several times this past weekend, people I was completely in love with and admired, I could barely muster a smile. I’m sure I come across as a cunt because I have the RBF, but if I have any amount of anxiety, I lose the ability to connect with strangers. I did end up talking to some people, but only because some friends facilitated it: “Hey, have you met Drake? Drake, have you met whatsherbutt?” (thanks, Kimberly<3). And when I did end up in situations where I was engaged by these people, I say all the weirdest wrong things. Like some stupid comment about how they remind me of my brother (???!! what is actually wrong with me).  

 

 

There are surely a million more reasons I could get into, but these are the main ones. I have decided that in order to get through my anxiety and learn to live and cope with it, I need to be more candid about it, talk about it. Hating myself for not handling things well has certainly not helped me get better, but confiding in people HAS. I’ve had tons of dancers come forwards and tell me they have similar problems.

 

So, here is what I want to do.

 

I’m gonna introduce myself again.

 

I’m Drake, I’m a dancer and teacher and I have a lot of anxiety. I handle it the best way I can. I want you to know that I am a safe person to confide in if you’re feeling anxious, scared, triggered, etc etc. If we are at the same event and you are triggered, I can hold you. We can breathe together. I will be whatever you need, even if it’s just someone to acknowledge you and validate your feelings.

 

I wanna make sure this is clear. Even if you don’t know me and we haven’t been formally introduced, I am here with you. You can shoot me a facebook message. You can cry to me. I see you.

 

I. See. You.

 

I want to foster a community that acknowledges and validates dancers like me who are so thirsty to be part of this community but struggle mainstreaming into it because it doesn’t come naturally to us. I am tired of feeling left out and isolated because of my anxiety and I know I can’t possibly be the only one who faces this regularly. Socializing and networking and interacting is a major road block for me but I don’t want that to keep me from finding fulfillment and success within the belly dance community.

 

I’ve argued with myself for years now, trying to decide if this is what I want to do with my life. I love teaching, but I struggle so much with coping with anxiety that I regularly question if this is my path. But after I teach a workshop, I am so full of gratitude and light that I can barely contain myself. In that moment, I know that I am destined to do this by any means necessary. It’s the only thing that makes me feel good about myself. After a class I think, THIS is why I do it. This is the reason. I may never be Aziza, and it’ll be a hot ass minute before I can afford to do dance retreats and certification courses and all that — again, 24 years old, full time college, etc etc. So, I know my technical skill may never reach Super Mastery Level.  Affording to circulate to these gatherings has been the biggest challenge, but I’m slowly getting there. But I feel whole when I’m immersed in this community. It hurts that it feels like, very often, it’s not made for people like me.

Me after teaching a workshop

Me after teaching a workshop

me, literally 1 hour later

me, literally 1 hour later

 

If you see me at an event with my headphones in, doing my own thing, please feel free to put your hand on my arm and say hello. I’d love to connect with you. I love hugs.

 

When I teach, I like to crack a lot of jokes and act goofy because having everyone laughing with me makes me feel at ease, and it cancels out my anxiety for awhile. When I take workshops, I like to be in the back and do my own thing unobtrusively. I’m not a show-off. I like to be the center of attention on stage, but I panic when I am singled out in classes. I try not to single people out in my own workshops for the same reason.

 

In conclusion, I am managing. But I struggle regularly, especially when I’m alone. I can always use a travel buddy, a lunch buddy, a class buddy, etc etc. And I will be that person for you too. We all deserve to enjoy these dance events, even those of us who aren’t naturally extroverted and who don’t thrive on high-sensory social interactions.

 

I see you.

 

-Drake

 

 

Posted on January 24, 2017 .

Anorexia, Dancing, and the Struggle to be Popular

before

before

 
after

after

I am well aware of how clichéd it is to complain about the struggle to be thin when you’re involved in show business. I don’t intend this entry to be about how hard it is to be constantly compared and scrutinized when your body is routinely displayed for the general public to see and judge. In some way, that’s true regardless of whether you’re on stage or not.

It’s not commonly discussed within the belly dance community, I think, because there is such an overwhelming culture of “all sizes welcome”. It’s great, because it’s really easy to encourage people to give it a shot when they use their usual self-deprecating excuses of being too fat, or out of shape, or whatever. You don’t have to be skinny to be good at belly dancing. You don’t have to be any shape to have fun dancing, but I feel that belly dance is very unique in the way that there isn’t a body type that is considered ideal, or not conducive. Everyone has their own opinion on what their ideal ‘belly dance body’ would be, but in general, dancers of all sizes can be equally entertaining and spirited.

I didn’t have problems eating because I got into dance. Dance has, in a way, both enabled and healed me to some extent, depending on the context. Of course I always pictured myself as a fat child, but my Mumsy will, in a motherly way, admonish me and say that I was, “Fluffy, not fat,” as if there were a difference.

But like many teenagers, I was very unpopular, and never had ‘cool’ friends… and I was chubby. The boys I liked never spoke to me (in large part because I never spoke to them), and I was too shy to approach popular people. All I knew was the girls were all skinny and had shiny, straight hair and sticky lip gloss. I have always had a desperate need to be liked, popular, and ideally, famous. This probably stemmed from being quite the opposite my entire academic life. Of course everyone says it’s better to be a good person than to be popular, and that’s fine and all, but it’s hard to see it that way when you’re routinely disregarded for being in a group that you didn’t want to be part of anyway.

I dropped out of high school in 9th grade after failing miserably in a ‘traditional school environment’. I was still chubby, still weird, and still unpopular. Somehow, though, I had one friend who was in our little gothling clique, who somehow managed to be a floater. She was liked and accepted by the popular people, yet still identified as “one of us”. She was tiny, perfect, and adorable — all things I had always desired to be.

After I dropped out, I did home schooling online, and that was it for my high school career. I didn’t see anyone, or really do anything. I sat in my room all day and did school work, read Harry Potter, and occasionally my only friend Chelsea would come visit me. This made it easy for me to formulate the connection between my floater friend and popularity — skinny. She was waifish and dainty and everyone loved her, including faculty, whereas I was largely ignored by both.

And so it started. I joined pro-ana/mia websites, I stopped eating with my family, and just cornered myself in my room and let my body eat itself. I subsisted entirely on black coffee, 100-calorie snack packs, and the occasional cheese stick. In general, I had around 500-700 calories in a day, and I went from a size L to XS in record time. I never talked about having issues or insecurity with my mom, so no one suspected. After about a year is when I decided to join belly dance. Two years after that, I started transitioning.

During my transition, I started telling myself that my issues with food were probably because of my weird gender issues. I hated my body and wanted to change it so that it would look more masculine, and that’s why I felt the need to be skinny. I was briefly better for a few months after the ‘hormone high’ kicked in and I was overjoyed at the prospect of all these testosterone-induced side effects. Once I started dancing competitively, though, I started having photos taken of me, and it all came back. I spiraled back into “must be skinny” mode and re-launched my battle against my body fat.

Since I lost more weight, I’ve stayed about the same size for the past few years. When I started competing and performing locally, I was getting overwhelming amounts of attention, all at once. There wasn’t a single time I didn’t walk off stage that I didn’t have people chasing after me to praise me. It was what I always wanted — attention, popularity. Maybe I was talented, but I also felt like it was because I stood out. I did fusion, and I was generally the smallest one in the lineup, and certainly the youngest. I chalked it all up to consequence and my body size, and if I were smaller people would like me more, and I certainly shouldn’t be any bigger, because then I would suck and all my momentum would be lost.

My body issues are tied very closely with my gender ones. I struggled so hard to have a boy body, which, due to my AIS, is simply not an option. And now that I’ve stopped T, I won’t gain muscle as easily. However, I don’t want to have such a girlish body either. I still feel like my happy medium in the gender spectrum is a waify androgyne, because I still can’t get past needing to be “tiny and perfect”. It’s very complicated.

I still have the overwhelming need to be liked and popular, but am still crippled by my shyness and problems with eating. And I call it “problems with eating” as opposed to “anorexia” because I am fully aware that I am not medically anorexic. I constantly battle with the balance of wanting to starve and be as tiny as possible, but wanting desperately to be a famous dancer. Being a dancer means being strong and having endurance and stamina, and if you only eat 500 calories a day, well… those are things that just won’t happen. I am motivated to eat by my desire to be a dancer, but am constantly in a shame spiral because I’m eating, and worrying about the correlation between my body size and my popularity.  

Looking back, of course those girls weren’t popular just because they were skinny. And not all of them were skinny. They were popular because they were friends with the right people at the right time. They all liked the same music, clothes, and were in the same playgroups as kids. I just didn’t fit in with them, and there was nothing I could have done to change that, regardless of whether I weighed 150 lbs or 90.

I still feel awful about myself when I go to put my costume on, or see a photo of me, and see pooches and jellyrolls and flappy bits. I hate them, and I hate myself for hating them, and I am really good at making myself feel awful. I feel like I don’t work out enough, or don’t dance enough, or don’t have enough discipline to achieve the body I want — which, if I had my way, I’d have the body of a 12-year-old gymnast with the hair of Ariel the mermaid. No amount of success I’ve had with booking workshops, winning competitions, or creating crowd-pleasing choreographies has been enough to knock me out of this decade-long shit storm I’ve created for myself.

I’m sorry this isn’t some inspirational, triumphant story of my battle with an eating disorder that I valiantly overcame with dance and love. I hate my body and I hate myself for hating my body, and I hate myself for eating, and I hate myself for not eating. For moments after a performance when people complement me, I feel a little better; or when someone praises my body, I feel okay for a while. My body self-esteem is constantly a “straw on the camel’s back” scenario.

I don’t really know how to wrap this up. I’m not begging for complements or sympathy, and honestly, this post was really long and rambly, so if you got to the end, thanks for reading. Maybe next month’s update will sing a cheerier tune. Until then, here’s the tune for this month.

 

Posted on December 7, 2014 .

Dance Rituals

I wanted to take some time and outline some dance rituals of mine, and also to gain some insight into other people's. This is also where I want to manifest my ritual goals, or continue things that I've started gaining momentum on but haven't turned into true "regular routines".

First, I want to dispel the myth that all professionals drill shit for like 6 hours a day. I'm sure that SOME DO, and to them I tip my hat. However, I'm a full time student, performer, instructor, choreographer, and I like to get laid sometimes, so I don't always take the time to drill combinations for hours and hours and hours.

I recently had a workshop with my FAVORITE belly dancer of all time ever, Sharon Kihara, who had some wise words on "daily practice". She said that if "You want to spend 30 minutes a day three times a week practicing dance, that's fine. If you wanna do yoga every day and not practice, that's perfect too." Basically, the point here was that if you're the type that gets the most benefit and pleasure from having a strict daily routine, then that's perfect — for you. If you're a little less restrictive about your constraints, then it's okay to have periods in your life when you're not actively practicing dance. It's okay to stop for awhile. If it's not feeding you at that moment, do what does feed you, and trust that you'll fluctuate in and out of dance practice rituals.

This workshop helped me a lot because I am always someone who never feels good enough. I'm never thin enough, or muscular enough, or I never practice enough, drill enough, prepare enough. So hearing this from Kihara put me at ease that, just because I'm not doing barre for an hour every day, doesn't mean I'm not growing as a dancer. My dance rituals are just a little different than that. So, what do I do?

Due to my weekly class constraints and my influx of private students, I'm constantly trying to challenge myself and think of new, exciting pathways and combinations for my students who are paying good money for my time. I feel like they deserve fresh, challenging things every time they see me. A couple of times a week, usually Tuesdays and Sundays when I'm a little less overloaded with school, I put on some of my favorite dance music and freeform it until I configure something that confuses me. Then I break it down for myself and drill it until it makes sense, and I bring that to my students. I try to do things that challenge me, so that I can be assured that they'll be challenging enough for them, and if need be, I take it up or down a notch.

I work out. I'm not a "lifter", in my opinion, but I do weights about 4-5 times a week and if I haven't danced a lot that day, I'll cardio for 15-20 minutes. I try to maintain stamina in my thighs, because I think as a dancer, core and legs are so important to maintaining strength, posture, and getting the full range of movement. I do a lot of weird dance styles that require me to be in a very deep plie for extended periods of time, so I try to train myself outside of class to always improve that stamina. I love shimmy drills, and if I'm warming up to start drilling or choreographing, I will turn on music and shimmy my brains out in the deepest plie as I can for the entire song. I'll vary it up, do some knee shimmy, choo choo, African, twisty, 3/4, etc. But always maintaining as much of a bend in my knees as I can without pitching forward.

I drown myself in music, so even when I'm not consciously putting combinations together in front of a mirror, I am formulating them in my head. Often times for months, or years, before I outline them in person. This way I've already got some spaces filled, and I just worry about filling in the holes when I'm finishing.

I like to stay enrolled in dance classes, and in college this semester I'm in a weekly ballet class on Mondays and Wednesdays. I also take West African and I drop in on Samba, hip hop, modern, etc, if I have time. I think it's good to keep a steady influx of movement pathways put together by another dancer.

Rituals I'm going to try and maintain are working out, watching my protein intake, and doing more dance videos at home. It's no substitute for a teacher, but it's better than nothing just to mix it up. In the past I've kept a pretty steady stream of "Middle Eastern serpentine-style fusion + hip hop fusion dubstep", so over the next few choreographies, I'm working on expressing another facet of my fusion. I'm consciously making myself focus on my modern, African, and ballet fusion to integrate it more deeply into my muscle memory. I'm also chin-deep in dance study books, and am currently working through "Grandmother's Secrets: The Ancient Rituals and Healing Power of Belly Dancing" "Gypsies and Flamenco", and "Appreciating Dance", which is actually a text book. I'm taking notes and highlighting and all that for reference, and for my future academic dance assignments!

What are your dance rituals? Practice, before a performance, for choreographing, etc.

Posted on October 14, 2014 .

Why I don't call myself 'tribal'

Okay, this post is entirely open to change over my journey as a dancer, so I don't want to make it sound like this is a static opinion of myself and that I'm not open to floating up and down the fusion spectrum. As of right now, this is how I describe what I do.

I get a lot of people quoting me as 'goth fusion,' 'tribal fusion,' or some mixture of that. I've seen tribal fusion, and I've been to goth fusion events. Totally unique art forms and legitimate styles of belly dance that while I can appreciate from a spectator perspective, but I do not believe apply to me directly. Here's my detailed dance background:

I took ballet as a child for maybe like, 6 months, and then I quit because I was terrible and uncoordinated. I took cheer leading for 2 years in middle school, and quit because I joined a different clique of friends and went through my silly gothling phase. I took hip hop intermittently throughout middle and high school, usually over the summer. I started American cabaret belly dance in July of 2008. I have taken ballet since 2012. I took ATS at Wild Sky Studio for 6 months. I take samba, hip hop, and West African classes semi-regularly. I've also dabbled in modern, pole dance, tap and jazz. Aside from that, I abuse my Datura account and instructional DVDs.

I only call myself a 'belly dancer' because when music plays, that's what I do. My fusion fluctuates depending on the music. If dubstep comes on, it's pop-lock hip hop fusion. If I hear that saidi, my cabaret fusion shows. If we've got a super heavy bass, my African/Samba shows. Above all, these things are accents. I am absolutely not well-versed enough in any of these dance forms to choreograph anything for one of their cultural events. I take whatever elements I want of those and throw it into my belly dance sack, shake it up, and then dump it out onstage. 

My whole life I have been a busybody with crafts and hobbies. Sketching, jewelry making, costuming, cosplaying, beading, poly clay, dance, etc. 'Jack of all trades, master of none.' I'm not always proud of that fact, because if you can't tell from the beginning of this post, I have a habit of quitting a lot. The only thing I haven't quit is belly dance. Where this mindset benefits me, however, is I don't feel like I get stuck in a 'fusion box.' I always feel very differently about each piece I put together, and I think you can see the fusion variety amongst my work.

So when my fusion is debated, I don't like to claim one discipline or another. I'm not a tribal fusion dancer, or an Afro-fusion dancer, or any one thing specifically all the time. I try to always address myself as Draconis, fusion belly dancer. This is also why I call my class 'eclectic fusion' instead of 'tribal.'

There's nothing wrong with being a belly dance purist, or specifically only being one flavor of fusion, or cross-training in 500 different styles. If I'm interpreting my music well, then I don't worry too much about what type of fusion I'm projecting. I, personally, am always authentically myself onstage.

Posted on February 25, 2014 .

Dancing as an androgyne

My first blog post! And I'm excited to start writing. It's been awhile since I've been able to express myself through words, more than just a Facebook post. I understand that this isn't something that everyone will even want to read, but that's okay. I'm keeping this for myself, as a document of my inner workings, to keep track of how what i feel and do changes as I mature as a person and a dancer. I invite you to share it with me, if you choose. I know every belly dancer has a blog out there with her own 'unique experience' as a belly dancer in the ignorant American world, so hopefully I won't be written off (pun intended) in the same way.

A question I get a lot (aside from, are you a boy or a girl?) is how my gender identity affects my dancing. Did the way you dance change after you transitioned? Do you try to act a certain way on stage to be in alignment with your professed identity? Etc.

There's no good way to answer all this succinctly. The way I've danced has evolved and changed as I've been exposed to new styles and refined my own art. Of course we all change over time, but the way I express myself on stage is definitely different now. When I started, at 16, I was very closed off and shy. Most new dancers are. Even when I had solo pieces, I was torn on how to dress, how to act, how to dance. Should I be more feminine? Masculine? Should I wear this, that, none? When I would be included in class performances, the costuming and stylization was taken from me in order to conform to a group. You will dance it this way, and wear this. Even though I didn't always like it, at least I didn't have to worry about it.

Flash forward, now I'm in a junior troupe of all girls. We have to be even more in sync than just a class, more is expected of us. Better costumes, better technique. Still all unmistakably feminine. Even though sequins, flowers and glitter didn't bother me, the whole idea of putting my tits on display with all of the above fashioned upon them did. Flash forward again, I turn 18 and start my hormone regimen. I come out to my studio, and even though some people give me looks, overall it was overwhelmingly accepting. So now I start to think, okay, so I'm gonna be a boy now. I have to dress and dance like boys dance and dress for performances. Once more, I didn't have a problem with the very traditional mens clothing, but I didn't quite like it either. I tried to tailor my accents, arms, hand articulations, everything to have a more 'male' flavor. Still, not quite right. I could appreciate truly masculine, powerful male presence, but it didn't resonate with me -- nor did the ultra feminine cabaret.

Final flash, up to the year of 2012. True, I'd already won an amateur competition, but honestly I feel like it was more lady luck than my dancing. Of course I've always been naturally talented, but my costume was terrible, my hair was awful, makeup ugh, and finally my face was totally dead. But I did the splits! And being in troupe training with my junior class had brought my technique above the average 'belly dance class' attendee. So I had that going for me. 

My dancing was hesitant, scared of judgment. Even though every performance is an invitation to judgment, I still felt codependent on the audience's opinion of me to provide some level of justification that I was doing something right. So terrified to truly look into my dance and move how I wanted to, not because it was expected of me, but because it was what I felt and how I wanted to do it. I had my second amateur competition in 2012, where I used a dubstep piece. Again, horrible costume, but I had more of a sense of self, and I felt truly accomplished with that.

In 2013 I busted my ass, devouring workshops and applying for every performance slot in town I could get my hands on. Traveling all the way from California to Asia for a chance to be seen. Large venues, tiny ones, bars, clubs, restaurants. I used this as a way to experiment with my costuming, my projection, my music choices, my fusions. Lots of wonderful things were born from all of this, such as performance slots at Lumen Obscura, a spot in the Whiskey Tongue Burlesque showcases, becoming the dance coordinator for Bliss Goddess. My own classes and students. Sometimes I still don't feel qualified to teach them, but am thankful that they keep coming back to hang out with me.

In 2013 I settled on my androgynous identity, because worrying about being too feminine or masculine was exhausting. What other people thought of me was none of my business. Will people think I'm gay? Probably. Will people think I'm possibly a girl? Probably. I'm at peace with that, however. I get a giggle from it occasionally.

I was asked to perform at a little restaurant hafla in a showcase with the beautiful beautiful BEAUTIFUL Vanessa from Fort Worth, TX. Truly exceptional Egyptian dancer. Mind you, this venue was TINY. The dance floor was about 6 feet across and 4 feet deep. There were only about 10 people seated, most of whom were coordinators of the event. Not exactly a roaring crowd. But regardless, she danced to them as if she were surrounded by paparazzi. She had total control over the entire room and wasn't afraid or cautious with her movements whatsoever. Perfection. I, however, was terrified; with little intimate crowds, I clam up and lose my buoyancy with the lack of energy from the audience. That experience really sat with me and made me want to do just that: No matter what the energy level or response from the audience, I'm gonna dance like they're tossing $50s at me. 

I'm still working on my costuming and I'm still toying with emotional projection, stylization and, of course, my neverending battle with trying to fill up a room with my performance. I don't worry about whether my dancing will be construed as girly or not, whether my outfit is too frilly, lacy or glittery. I can sincerely say that I dance how I want for me, not for them. I wear what I want because I love it, not because it makes other people comfortable. Why would I want to lose my sense of self to make the rest of the world comfortable, anyway?

And when you get the chance to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance.

Posted on January 12, 2014 .