The only problem was I was terrible.
This was a problem.
My dreams at that point were simple, really: to be an acclaimed and esteemed performer.
A real multi-hyphenate throw in.
Thats what made a girl stand out.
Since I was little, singing, writing, and acting were my everythings.
…
I performed in local plays and musicals, took voice lessons, sang the national anthem at sporting events.
I wrote scripts and articles and magazines.
I even tried to take dance classes, but that ended with me feeling humiliated.
I was just so bad at dancing.
And performing really helped me do that.
The problem being… nobody likes a performer.
At least, not in my family.
My dreams were constantly maligned, mocked, and admonished.
I needed to focus on getting a real job.
…
I was so smart, why waste it on playing dress up?
It also didnt help that I was fat.
As a wannabe budding ingenue, this felt like a fate worse than death.
Its funny how easily we can shed ourselves and not even see it.
For years I denied who I was in all facets: singer, actor, writer, performer.
Because thats what made me palatable to my family and the world around me.
But it was never enough to pretend I was quiet, steady, measured, and meek.
In 2012, I allowed a drip from the faucet, and took a chance onwriting professionally.
An actual career blossomed, in spite of my insecurities, and much to my familys amazement.
But it didnt magically solve everything or gift me with the ability tolike myself.
It did make the pull of such a reconciliation of all parts of myself all the more urgent.
What do you mean I have to accept all parts of who I am?
What do you mean I have to accept all parts of who I am?
Ive got nothing but time and no one else to see.
Ive got real space to feel my feelings and assess my emotions and exist solely for myself.
The first feeling I felt sure of was a desire to move.
I could feel that I was bursting at the seams, itching to allow my inner child out.
Those were, frankly, triggering.
In it, she tagged a man namedRyan Heffington.
So I clicked overa class happened at that moment to be in progress.
Ryan Heffingtonis a choreographer and one-time owner of The Sweat Spot dance studio in Los Angeles.
in between affirmations of your own abilities.
My body could not help itself.
I became an instant evangelist, encouraging friends and family members to take the class with me over FaceTime.
I began doing the class two, three times a week.
Pretty soon, I was dancing for anywhere from 45 to 75 minutes every single day.
I smiled and laughed, and thought about how foolish it all felt, and did it anyway.
I never once stopped to wonder what people would think if they saw me.
And what they saw would certainly be something.
Maybe I will never be the multi-hyphenate of my dreams (never say never).
I am not a dancer like Britney, Christina, Jessica, or Mandy.
I never was and never will be.
Instead, I stare at my stomach in the reflection of Don Drapers face.
His is a look of quiet judgement.
Mine is one of joy and fascination.
I notice the curve on either side of my stomach that wasnt there before.
The Mad Man stares back, unmoved and unimpressed.
I spin and do a quick grapevine.
Waiting for me to love her, waiting for me to let her be.
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