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Emilee

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My front facing camera broke on my phone, making my already limited picture taking even MORE limited. Have a throw back from last spring. I have a blog post in the works. Life has been kinda nutty, my laptop *also* bit the dirt, and things have been kind of overwhelming. Y’all are always on my mind, though! You’ll be hearing from me soon. 💕
Classes yesterday brought to you in part by @leakycon (I don’t usually dress up for costume week, but i do try and incorporate Harry Potter to some degree 🤷🏼‍♀️)
New blog post, link in bio!
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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Pointe Shoe Solutions

Not too long ago, my friend Jackie saw a post from Capezio about a contest for a VIP Pointe Shoe fitting. There was one for NYC, one for Dallas, and one for Austin. The winner gets professionally fitted, a pair of shoes, toe pads, ribbons and elastics in an experience of a lifetime.

I entered, semi-absentmindedly, not even really thinking of how far Austin and Dallas are.
Yesterday as I was journaling at work about something semi-deep, I got an email and looked at it more out of habit than actual curiosity. But when I saw who it was from, I was shocked.

Dianne Giacoio  with the subject, “VIP Pointe Shoe Fitting–Dallas TX”

I think my exact words were, “There’s no freakin’ way.”

I opened it, and sure enough, it was a congratulations because I won the fitting.

When I entered, I said a little informal prayer, knowing that my feet need some real attention by someone who knows what they’re doing. It has been the most difficult thing trying to find shoes that work, and it’s really frustrating knowing that I can do more than my shoes allow.

I was in denial of this for a while because I had once heard, “Bad dancers blame the shoe.” Until my friend Liz, who has had pointe shoe woes of her own, told me, “Um, you need different shoes.”

I don’t know if they were expecting some 12-year-old whose momma signed them up, but they got this almost 26-year-old who is at the end of her rope and needed something like this to happen.

So, thank you, Capezio, for hosting this contest. For choosing me, an adult ballerina who will never be part of a company or probably amount to anything in the world of ballet. Because of all the opposition, you make me feel like you believe in me. That this dream isn’t something childish that I should give up on, but worth pursuing. That maybe I can finally have a solution.
Thank you.

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