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Emilee

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My friend Bailey and her company @companythreesixty made this and I have no more words to add. It’s perfect. #Repost @catchingbreaths with @get_repost ・・・ Why didn’t I report? I didn’t report because I thought that if I’m in a relationship with someone, it meant it was equally my fault. I thought the years of unhealthy feelings towards myself which ensued, were still invalid since it could have been worse. I thought I shouldn’t tell my Momma until a couple of years later on a beautiful mountain walk together, and even then, I softened the story from shame for how I’d appear to the person I love the most. I didn’t report because we live in a world where men use sentences like “it can always be worse” as psychological shrapnel. A world that tells us we should have done more to stop it. A world that, even when I remember the attempts to push away as clearly as consciousness cinema, I was scared to push too hard because I didn’t want to make someone mad. A world that makes me worry at sharing, because I have young students and ‘should be a role-model’: with a role model being pure, respectable, elite, undamaged. Now, a mother, wife, champion, boss... I still worry to report as innocuously as through a #WhyIDidntReport hashtag, lest I somehow appear less for having shared. But as someone who’s survived a darkness far worse than that described, and Shawshanked her way to a life of light- save for second glances over shoulders- I can say that the hardest person to report to is actually... yourself. It’s the you that you had once hoped to be. The you that you’ll never be again. The you that you wish you could go back and protect. The you you wish you had been (louder, less in shock, less weak). The you that once was but was taken. To all the Yous you once were reading this (and the You in me who still feels cemented by shame)... this should never have happened. It doesn’t matter how loud, quiet, forceful... how well you knew them.... You didn’t deserve to lose You because your body wasn’t left as yours. None of us do. None of us ever will. There is no good way to end this bit of writing, because the truth is: it hasn’t ended. A perfect sentence will not wrap this up. Y
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Teaching on my birthday is my favorite thing. Hi, I’m 30, and I gave full sized cupcakes to three year olds and I’m sure their parents hate me
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Gotta get back to Hogwarts Gotta get back to school Gotta get myself to Hogwarts Where everything is magicooooool
Mischief Managed.

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Summer.

It’s been two weeks since we last had class, and I’m already feeling like it’s been a lifetime.
Don’t get me wrong, the down time is nice. The only down side to the down time is that I’ve been sick most of it.
I guess it’s a good thing, since it’s better to be sick on days you’re not going to miss dance, rather than on days you would.

I haven’t been able to keep up with ballet as much as I would like to on this break, partly due to the space issue currently. (still living in my parents guest room, with no more than a narrow aisle of floor space.) Mix that with the mosquitoes terrorizing outside, and the options are very minimal. However, I really don’t want to die when I get back to class, so I’m going to try and come up with some sort of solution.

Also, I was actually in front of the camera instead of behind it recently, and when I get those pictures back, I’ll be posting them, along with the ones from San Francisco.
I’ve been rather reluctant to post them. Being a photographer myself, and having worked with some pretty talented dancers, and having only been in class such a short time and seemingly plagued with health issues, to say I’m critical of myself is an under statement.
Nonetheless, I know progress is a part of this, so I’m going to post the pictures anyway and show the progress as it happens.

(I meant to bring the disk of San Francisco photos with me today to post, but I forgot it at home. I also forgot my lunch, so I should have known today would be an off one from the start.)

Stay tuned.

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