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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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Skipping class. 

I did something to my ankle in class on Monday. It doesn’t seem to be too major–landed a jump wrong or something. Maybe that mixed with overuse–and didn’t start hurting until I got home. It hasn’t let up so I skipped class yesterday to rest it. 

As I sat there with my leg iced and elevated, I put on the vinyl I got in Austin of the entire ballet of Don Quiote. 

Once that finished, I had another vinyl of a collection of works by a composer that included Nutcracker music, as well as Sleeping Beauty. 

I sat there, listening to it all, snap chatting my relations. Because I am trash. 😂

My ankle feels the same today, so I’m debating sitting out class again. I want to go, especially considering next week the studio is closed for spring break, but I don’t want to screw myself over by not resting my ankle. We have a long rehearsal Saturday, and I want to be up to par for that. The struggle. 

The mailman came by through the terrible rain we have right now (my favorite kind!) and delivered this 

  
  
I got it on eBay from these wonderful people. And now all I want to do is go home and put it on. 

Because I am ballet trash. Haha! 

But really it makes me feel better. It’s odd, because this ballet has been so painful for me, but feeling so deeply makes it almost easier to handle. Which makes no sense except that it does. At least I know I’m still alive, that I’m human, that I still feel and haven’t become numb to the world or to the thing I love to do the most. So while putting on the music may be painful, it is a kind of pain I want to feel. 

This entry was posted in dance.
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