As I sat through my dress rehearsal, I couldn’t help but notice the lack of larger bodies dancing at Vanderbilt’s latest dance showcase. In fact, I wouldn’t even consider myself a “larger body,” but just seeing all the skinny girls get lifted up so easily and gracefully reminded me of my lifelong insecurities.
When I was in the second grade, I had a teacher who lived through dance. She had my entire second grade class perform for our community’s Lunar New Year Festival. After a few practices, I dropped out. Second grade was when the loud snickers amongst girls in my class whenever I walked by started. I chose hearing some peace and quiet over dancing.
I’ve always loved watching people dance. It was just something I would have never seen myself doing. I even took two semesters of Ballroom Dancing in high school, where I felt like the scrawny kid picked last at dodgeball practice. I told myself a lot of guys didn’t choose to dance with me because I wasn’t very good at it. I didn’t want to think it was because they didn’t find me attractive enough to dance with. Perhaps I also wasn’t very good at it, since I fumbled a lot and got even more anxious when I fumbled causing me to fumble even more. Perhaps these guys weren’t even good dancers themselves and couldn’t lead me. All these possibilities occurred to me at that time, but in a class of over 30 students my insecurities and doubts drifted in the background, again never receiving the attention they needed for me to heal.
When I came to college, I felt different. This was my last chance to try something new before real life takes over.
It was tough, to say the least. Suddenly, all of my internal struggles with my weight and body that I’ve been too afraid to face surfaced. I didn’t trust guys to dip me. Every time my skinny 130 lb partner wobbled when we did the death drop, I tensed up making everything harder for the both of us. I didn’t know how to ask for help when I didn’t want to admit the problem was with me. I had never talked about weight or body image to anyone in my life even though it was a hidden insecurity that littered into all aspects of my life. I didn’t know what to tell my partner, who is also my best friend, when he talked about feeling weak and going to the rec center to lift everyday. It made me wish I was a different person, a skinnier prettier version of myself.
Eventually, I learned how to use my voice. I asked for a new dance partner. My best friend and I switched partners with another pair. He became the star of the show, with perfect form and timing and the displayed passion of a matador.
There is still a lot I can’t do in dance, but I’m doing far more than I ever thought I would. Never in a million years have I ever expected to be lifted in the air, to be doing death drops with my head four inches from the ground and to be able to dance. And I never expected to want to do it again.