but dance is free. This is my new therapy. There is no other place that clears my head, frees my mind from whatever chains I’ve wrapped it in than this place. Sitting here alone, in the quiet, on the cold floor is the cliched couch in the therapist’s office.
When I’ve failed as a mother or as a wife or when the noise and chaos of life gets to me I come here.
The ballet barre has never lied to me. Never rolled its eyes at me. It tempts me but never with promises that I’ll feel better or that it will love me but with the promise that after an hour of hanging on to it for dear life that I can let go and when I step back into my real life that I might stumble but I won’t fall.
The barre is my groove…my mojo. I love that when I lose said groove I know where to find it.
So to my mother who drove me to dance every night and sat in the car for hours….thank you. And to my teachers, even the one who I can thank for my future hip replacement….thank you.
After the disaster that was my morning,I wanted to park in front of Sweet Frog until they opened. Instead I left it here on the cold floor. Two bruised knees and one banged up elbow later, I feel better.
It may not have looked as pretty on the outside as it did when I was 18 but it felt fucking awesome.