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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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Bump in the road.

Yesterday was the 5s class that has the separate pointe class with it. (So essentially, its the longer 5s class. Fancy words and diction is failing me. meh.)
I was slightly hesitant about the class, being that my knee was still being dumb, but hopeful that I could still make it through and it would be good.

Turns out I couldn’t plie at all on my right side.
Usually I can push through. Usually I can suck it up and just manage and make it work. Usually its not that big of a deal.
Yesterday was not a usually.
I tried anyway, but when it came to using the right leg, I felt my face grimace and tears well up in my eyes. The pain was shooting through my knee, under the knee cap, undeniable.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t panic. But Mrs. Alex could see all over my face that I wanted to. She told me, “You look so serious!” Or commented on how we looked focused and needed to have lighter expressions. Usually I can. Yesterday I couldn’t.
I didn’t cry because I wouldn’t let myself. I didn’t panic because I willed myself not to. I stopped and breathed deeply and every other trick I could think of. I shut off my brain and hoped I could still keep up with the combo because, ya know, my brain was off.
Mrs. Alex caught on. They know my knee has been messing up, and they’re really understanding. She said, “Don’t do anything more than you can.” To which I managed, “I can’t even plie.” And you could see on her face that she knew my pain.
Turns out the second half of class was nearly impossible. Eloise and I talked of our perpetual ailments and how we managed and what doctors we saw and who she recommended. It’s nice having someone who really gets it.

The class continued on, and I found I couldn’t do much of anything in center. Parts of it, yes, but anything that required bending the right knee past an inch was out of the question.
And beyond frustrating.
I stood in the back.
I watched.
I marked.
I laughed with Eloise when neither of us could do anything.
We watched.
We marked.
I tried getting the motion of the movement as if I were able to do it.
Anything that could get more ballet into my brain.

After class I talked to Mrs. Alex about it. We discussed options of what I can do and told her I might either be late to class the next day or not able to come at all depending on the chiropractor.
Ms. Munro asked if I was interested in helping with the baby classes that are packed.
I got in my car.
I cried.
Big huge tears, crying out to God because I need dance. It’s not just something I enjoy, it’s a necessity in my life. If I got to choose fixing my knee or fixing my internal issues, I’d choose knee. Because dancing helps the internal stuff and I can dance through that more easily even if it can be debilitating at times.
It sucks. It all sucks. And it’s not fair. But it is what it is.

I’ve been consulting Dr. Google today, trying to gain a better understanding of why my knee would be hurting. My assumption is that it’s because the right leg is the longer leg. So I researched a bit and found out there’s a muscle that runs through and connects all the important parts for the hip/leg. (lots of medical mumbo jumbo I don’t quite grasp enough to detail or summarize.) I read that everyone tends to have their legs a little uneven, and that it’s typically your dominate leg that is. (mine isn’t. so. that’s cool.) They say your muscles can get really tight and cause your hip to shove up into your ribs and make your legs uneven.
Oh.
Did my Chiropractor tell me this? I don’t know. It was an overwhelming day, and a lot was said. It’s possible he did, but it all seems new to me now.
The muscle that I read about is coincidentally the muscle that is the main storage for our response to stimulus. In other words, it holds our stress.
Oh.
On article called it the “trauma muscle.”
Yeah that sounds about right.
I found another article that detailed a stretching/strengthening/massaging regimen to help loosen the muscle and get the hips even again. I bookmarked it.

I’m afraid my chiropractor will talk to me like I’m stupid. Or tell me I haven’t done something right or enough or whatever. I’ve kept up with the stuff the Physical Therapist showed me best I can, but it doesn’t seem to be doing much. My back is better, it’s my knee that’s not now. And it’s given me trouble before, but nothing like this.
(and now, of course, my stomach started getting angry as I’m writing this. what the heck.)
I need answers, not criticism. I need understanding, not judgement. I need solutions.
I don’t care what I have to do. Last night I even thought how I would amputate the leg and learn to dance with a prosthetic (over lots of time and work, obviously) if it meant I could dance that way but now how it is now. If they told me I had to stop dancing because of my knees, then cut off my knees and give me a leg that can’t feel pain. I’ll make it work.

I’m frustrated. I’m upset. I’m scared and nervous and anxious.
I just want to dance.

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