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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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Week two, here we go.

So the days since our last performance have been filled with emotions all over the spectrum.

  • My neighbor died
  • My old roommate had her baby
  • My friend’s mom died

Not to mention all the family and work drama. Oddly, this doesn’t feel like all that much, but in four days, it kinda hits.

Needless to say, I was really excited to have rehearsal tonight. Dance makes me feel like I’m alive and have something to live for. Not that I don’t without it, but it just encompasses all those emotions in a way other things don’t. And dancing on the theater stage just amplifies it. It feels right, and it feels like I never want to leave, even if every seat is empty.

There was a moment when they were running the battle scene. A good sized group of us were sitting on the floor in the aisles of the audience, talking about this that or the other. I looked at the stage and took a moment to take it in. Someone walked past and smiled at me, and that’s when I realized what was at the root of everything I was feeling–acceptance.
Here I was, this new person, no one owes me a thing or knows me from Adam, but they liked me. They accepted me. They listen when I speak and let me listen to them speak. They’re kind towards me and inclusive.

I guess this is kind of new to me. This never really happened in High School, but it never really didn’t happen. I guess I’m in a place where I am more confident in myself and don’t rely on outside sources for verification, so having acceptance feels refreshing. I don’t need  it, but that makes it all the better.

I danced the best I’ve done this season, I think. It felt good.
That feeling of just completely letting go, dancing because it’s in your soul and not caring what anyone around you is thinking. Just doing it for yourself. It was a good day.

Sadly, it wasn’t for everyone. Several of the younger kids were out sick, and one of the flowers came down wrong on her foot and rolled it. This season seems to be plagued.

Still, we march on.

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