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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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Thoughts from the chiropractors office. 

Yesterday’s barre was wonderful. We did simple,repetitive combinations that were easy on the mind, but required real work to execute properly. Those are my favorite kind. It does us well to remember the basics.  

We worked on finishing recital, which I was excited about since I probably won’t be there the next couple weeks due to work. (I had to miss Tuesday to meet a deadline, so I’m sure the next two weeks are doomed. Yay overtime?) 

There was one point that kind of shot me in the heart. I haven’t quite figured out why I was made to feel that way and what to do about it yet, so I’m not gonna go into detail about it. There’s also details I can’t really divulge that factor into it. I don’t hold it against anyone, I just don’t know what I should do in myself and how I should respond moving forward. 

In essence, I feel foolish. And embarrassed. 


Sometimes I forget that people actually read this blog. I mean, I’ve been writing on it since 2012, I think, and back then no one read it really. Maybe one person here and there, but not really. I think it’s absolutely amazing that people from all over the world find themselves reading my words and my stories, even if I think no one would really find them interesting. But they do. And that’s amazing. 

It really blows my mind that people I know read it. Especially this one guy in class. He is the cockiest know it all i have ever met, not to mention he likes to throw in your face the fact he’s been a vegetarian for three whole days. 

(Okay, real talk, he told me he wanted a shout out in my blog and wanted me to talk bad about him, but really there’s not a mean bone in his body. So. Sorry Matthew, I can’t seriously talk ill of you, but here’s your shout out) 

Life is weird and funny and ironic and takes you places you could never dream or imagine and can also leave you feeling pretty hopeless. It’s all part of the ride and you have to take it as it comes; play the cards you’re dealt. (Quoting a wise man I once knew there at the end.) but I believe, when you look back, even on the days it’s hard as hell to keep going, you’ll see the beautiful things around you if you let yourself remember them. 

Ps. Here is my current view at the chiropractors office. 

Rolly bed for the win. 

(Stay tuned Saturday for a one year recap of my back struggles.)

This entry was posted in dance.
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