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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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Love Yourself. 

I have to custom order my shoes through Capezio, requiring the hardest shank they offer to get any life out of my shoes. (They’re incredible, by the way.) I was hoping the pair I had would last me through Swan Lake, but ordered the next pair just in case. They came in the week before shows, an it’s a good thing they did. My shanks died in the middle of one of our very last rehearsals and I couldn’t make it through on them. Thankfully I had ribbons and elastic (thanks friend) and was able to sew my new shoes and break them in before our very last rehearsal and the shows. 

I think I saw this somewhere, but I can’t remember where to know who to give credit for the idea, but this is my new method for telling my shoes apart. 

Instead of just putting “L” for left and “R” for right, or just one or the other, (which some people don’t even do) I decided to put a two word sentence. 

I couldn’t tell you why I put “Love yourself” because I don’t even know why myself. I guess the fact that it starts with an L, which is on the left foot, was an appealing coincidence. Regardless, this is now how I tell which is left and which is right. 

I plan to change the statement each pair, which will not only tell me which shoe goes to which foot, but also how old the shoes are so I don’t mix them up. I’m notorious for keeping two, three, even four pairs in my dance bag (for no reason, really) and no matter how hard I try to keep them straight, there will come a moment when they’ll get mixed up and I can’t tell which shoe is new, which is old, and which left goes to which right. 

It’ll also help me remember the story that goes with each pair. 

Most importantly, it give me a mini pep talk each time I put them on. This time, it reminds me to not be so hard on myself in class, but to love myself. To love where I am and not get so worked up on where I wish I was. 

I need to put in an order for a new pair so they are to me before I need them. Thankfully, these shanks give my shoes a longer lifespan than before, which really helps. 

We have our last week of classes before recital, and have yet to finish one of the dances. Summer will be here before we know it. I’m still trying to kick this cold or whatever has been overtaking my health, and hopefully will be better tomorrow. I’ve done nothing the past few days, yet am absolutely exhausted. 

It’s so stupid. 

I think I need to be back in normal surroundings, though, which makes the fact that normal classes are ending soon really unfortunate. I think I have a bit of soul searching to do, as well, which hopefully will happen soon. So much to get done, always. 

I hope y’all are well, have a great week, and remember to love yourself. 

(Seriously, it’s important.)

This entry was posted in dance.
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