(photo taken at our family dance party during our family documentary photo shoot)One of my favorite coping strategies is movement. Particularly dance.
My unfulfilled childhood dream has always been to be a ballerina. I LOVED the ballet class I took in college. And wish so badly I had danced more as a child. I haven’t abandoned my dream of ballet, but I have had to alter it and pretend that barre classes at the gym are the same thing (shh, it’s not) or that my living room is actually a prestigious studio (it just might be).
My living room “studio” also acts as discotheque, musical theater stage, and, really, as a place for all interpretive dance.
My anxiety has been high this last week because it was injection week at my oncologist and there was another difficult experience a few days before that.
I got the younger kids tucked into bed. Eric drove off with the older boys to get their Covid vaccines. And I turned the music on in the living room. I picked three songs and played them over and over again as I danced around the room. It was such a release.
Is it strange that I turn the music up and dance alone? Or is it a sign that I really should’ve been a ballerina?
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