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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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Side note. 

Sometimes I go back on super old blog posts, just to see where I’ve been. To remember. 

I would catch myself walking backstage during shows, costume swishing as I walked, pointe shoes off my heels causing me to walk awkwardly, and a thought would pop into my head: 

“This is your reality. This is right now. It’s not a dream or some distant hope. This is you; your life. Soak up every detail while you have it.”

I’m well aware of how life can change in an instant, but even so I’m prone to take things for granted. To get caught up in the drama or emotions of a moment and forget to step back and realize the gifts the day gives me. 

This October will be six years since I started ballet. I’ve written about it before and reflected different times throughout, but passing that number five seems to be hitting me. 

I was a different person then. Not completely, but in many ways. There were decisions I made then that could have completely changed my path of life, causing me to never pursue dance in the slightest. 

Looking back, this blows my mind, because most of everything I do is based on dance in  some way. 

I remember the beginning days. Being absolutely terrified, but being more afraid of regret. I remember the panic. I remember the kindness shown me by other dancers. And looking back now, I’m so glad I started this thing, to have the stories and pictures and memories to look back on. 

Sometimes I wonder why I every started a blog. I mean, having a “legit” blog was on my bucket list, though I don’t really know why now. I mean, obviously writing is my jam, but I’m not really sure what the draw of a blog was. Maybe it was an 2010’s thing. (Is that what we call this decade? Ugh this is hard.) 

But I think of the things I’ve learned, having this. The people I’ve met. (Some from the blog, some just from dance.) it’s been a year since I began my ballet Instagram, and since then I’ve gained over 1,500 followers and countless dear friends to boot. Cherished friends from all over the world. I’ve met people that have reached out to me and helped me with my health, helped me with my technique, helped me with learning bits of other languages, so many incredible things. 

Ballet has introduced me to some of my very most cherished friends. Thosetypes that   you know you could call if it’s 3am and you’re stranded on the highway, or need help moving, or–in recent days–organizing your tiny house that seems to be freaking Mary Poppins carpet bag because how can it hold so much?! 

They’re the people you call or text when life gives you more than you know what to do with. The ones that encourage you on your dark days and remind you of the light inside of you and the future you still have ahead. 

They’re the friends that go to movies with you, or freaking fly to Florida for a Harry Potter day of perfection. 

These are the people living out my many-faceted dreams with me. They encourage me in ways I didn’t know people could. They teach me so much about life and people and kindness. They show me how to treat people. They make me better. 

Without them, I wouldn’t be half the person I’ve grown to be in the past 6 years. 

So this ones for you, my friends. 

You know who you are. 

And you’ll never be able to know how much you truly mean to me. There just aren’t words. 

Thank you, truly. 

This entry was posted in dance.
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