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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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Summer Class Two. 

Today was my second summer class, though the third for those doing the complete intensive. 

I had a baby class which had 8 kids in it–more 3 year olds than Monday–which went well enough. Surprisingly better than Monday, even though most of Monday’s were a bit older. 

One of the little ones kept running around, which lead the others to follow, but her dad came in and got onto her which made my life so much better. (God bless the parents who give their kids boundaries and enforce rules.) 

My favorite little one was there again. I’m so glad to have her in both classes. Even though she is new to this language, and she’s super young, she keeps rather focused and does relatively well. She’s a little ray of sunshine. I love her so much. 

I made it through, hopeful that maybe I can get an assistant (how about it Abarrane?) it’d be a much more efficient class if there were someone to help rope in the ones that stray. 

There was one little girl who was crying and didn’t want her mom to leave, but she was really sweet and actually very into ballet once she got into it and felt a little more safe. She was really sweet. 

I have a few names to learn, and chances are as soon as I learn them the summer will be over. But there’s something about being called by name that makes a difference. It matters. It shows that you matter. 

I waited for our class and read a really neat article posted in an adult ballerina Facebook page I’m part of about a dancer who has chronic pain in her leg. She details the struggle she faces every moment of every day, and describes so beautifully how ballet helps you have a bit of an escape from a world that causes you so much pain. 

(That top paragraph.)

(Here’s the article!)

I like how she describes the way class keeps your mind busy to help you forget about the overwhelming way life can bear down on you. How even though sometimes you feel it during class, you fight it for the further goal. 

Ms Munro taught class tonight, and it went really well. My friend Alex from the leveled classes was in it, which made me really happy, and the new girl we had last week came back! Brand new. Never taken ballet before, and holding up decently enough! 

Ms Munro gave me a few compliments. I don’t particularly remember what on, but I remember being slightly surprised that she was actually speaking to me. But she was, by name, a few “nice, Emilee!” ‘s here and there. One I do remember was when she saw my balance in back attitude. I’ve struggled with balancing often, but I was able to actually hold it. 

I feel like in Adult, I’m able to focus more on the technique of the moment instead of simply the flare. I can think about where my head is supposed to be. I can think about straight knees and closing in fifth. I can think about pointing my foot and making sure all five toes are on the floor when I close. I can pay attention. I can think through every movement. I can try harder. 

Ms Munro also gave me corrections–to pique onto a completely straight knee, to plié before I do many things. They were new corrections. It was nice. 

After class, she complimented my leotard, and told me that I was looking really well. She said my epaulment and my placement and presenting looked really good. Which. Like. Never happens. I mean maybe to other people, but never me. And never after class to me directly. It was really cool. And made me feel really good. 

Adult makes me feel really good. I can take time to breathe and think and try. 

My stomach was hurting really badly during and after class. It typically doesn’t feel all that great but this time it was a bit extreme. I thought about walking out but I didn’t want to do that. It’s only an hour long, but today it felt like much, much longer. 

It was a great class. The other dancers were so light hearted and kind and we all tried hard and did our best. It just left me feeling really good after, in spite of feeling like crap internally. These are my favorite. 

The adult class is a bit intimidating, though, and I didn’t get any pictures of me in my eleve. I felt dumb asking anyone to take it, though I could have even had Ms Munro take it. But I chickened out. Hopefully I can get some pictures later. 

(I did get this one in my bathroom mirror though.)

I still wish I could slim down a little, but I know I don’t have much control over that right now. It’s frustrating. But I can only do so much. Especially with food hating me. I wish I could figure out how to help this, but it seems it of my control for right now. 

I’m not gonna dwell on it. It only makes me feel worse about something I can’t control. 

So I’m gonna think of adorable tiny baby ballerinas and compliments from Ms Munro. 

And my dog. Cause she’s cute. 

Here she is asleep. Hehehe 

This entry was posted in dance.
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