I'm a Terrible Dancer

A confession for International Dance Day

Today is International Dance Day – a day to revel in the universality of an artform that transcends political, cultural, and geographical divides.

And I’m a terrible dancer.

Trust me, I’m not saying this as false modesty. I’m not fishing for others to argue the point. I genuinely could not find the beat even if my life depended on it.

And yet, I love dancing.

I remember being self-conscious of the way I moved my body from a young age. Flippant comments from… let’s call them well-meaning, rather than ignorant… adults buried their way into my brain early and tarnished the joy for me.

And that stayed well into my adult years. Because negative comments have a far longer life than positive ones. They replay so often that they become facts. You forget they’re just opinions someone tossed out carelessly.

So, I avoided dancing unless it was in the safety of a crowded dancefloor where everyone was far too busy, and most likely drunk, to pay me any heed.

Then I turned 50 and made a bucket list of 50 things to achieve that year.

One of them was join a dance group.

But I chickened out.

Two years later, at 52, inspired by my fabulous friend, Tamara, and accompanied by my fearless friend Tammie, I joined a Burlesque dance group.

Not something gentle or sensible or easy to talk about in mixed company.

No.

I picked the scariest option available to a woman who had never felt comfortable with acting sexy and had spent decades believing she couldn’t dance.

Because I don’t do things in halves. If you’re gonna be scared – you might as well go with terrified. And, oh, how grateful I am that I chose the scariest option.

Burlesque hasn’t taught me rhythm. But it gave me permission to no longer care about that. Permission to move joyfully. Permission to take up space on a stage, make mistakes, laugh a lot and still belong up there.

But more importantly, it brought me a community of like-minded women who are all unlearning the negative messages society gave us about our bodies. A tribe of beautiful souls who have become cheerleaders in each other’s life.

All because we all took that scary first step outside of comfort and into fishnet stockings and raucously fun costumes.

So if there is one thing I wish for people on International Dance Day, it’s this:

Dance even if someone once told you not to.
Dance even if you think you’re terrible.
Dance even if you’re convinced you don’t have the ‘right’ body type.

Because joy shouldn’t be confined by stupid rules.

It only requires permission.

And a tiny bit of courage.

And sometimes that courage looks like a woman in her fifties stepping onto a stage thinking, ‘What the f…’