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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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What a week.

This has been a really difficult week, to say the least.

Those little things that cut you down and get under your skin seemed to come from every direction and pile up all at once.

To say I’m grateful for ballet and what it has given me in this life would be an understatement. I know I’m not currently well enough to take classes, but I still reap beautiful benefits from this community and family I’ve found myself in.

I have cherished friends that can tell something is off, take the time to check in on me, and listen to me as I completely shatter in a way I haven’t in I couldn’t tell you how long, blubbering through everything weighing so heavily on me. I can’t tell you how many times people avoid it, or don’t look close enough to see that anything is wrong, or if they do they don’t take the time to inquire. I was really struggling that day, and the fact that someone cared enough about me not only to reach out, but to attentively listen as I verbal vomited all over the place meant more to me than I have words for.

I know I’m not the greatest ballet teacher to ever walk the planet. I have much to learn and countless ways to improve, but I teach some of the greatest kids on the planet. They’re fun and silly and determined and their hearts absolutely burst with kindness. They may have no clue that I was ugly crying moments before they’re class, but they just run up to me and hug me out of nowhere. Then they proceed to focus and pay attention and be patient as we work out a difficult part of recital positioning.

That trend carried to my Friday and Saturday classes as well, though my older girls could do with a bit more focus. It can be difficult when it’s the first class on a rainy Saturday morning, and only 3 of the 12 are on time.

All in all, today was a great ballet day. I taught my classes, as well as covered a 4-5 year old class in between and taught a private afterwards. The class I covered went surprisingly well. That age can be particularly difficult, but I think the odds went in my favor and that the allure of a new teacher played well for me. The two girls I had a private with made my heart burst. One is brand new to ballet and coming in recital seasons, the other has health troubles and has to miss a bunch. I was beyond excited their mom’s approached me about working one-on-one. Not only does it help them understand better and learn more, it will help having them know what’s going on to sort of direct the rest of the girls who either don’t want to be there or don’t care to focus as much. It helps them feel more confident in what they’re doing, especially when the tempo picks up. It also helps give them a good base off of which to practice at home.

I was a bit nervous that such a full day today would leave me exhausted. I haven’t done that much ballet back-to-back in I don’t know how long. But, it didn’t. I’m tired, yes, that doesn’t go away, but simultaneously I felt alive. It was energy well worth using, and being able to come home and try to get work done while laying in bed was nice. I wish I had more time to get things done at the speed I’m able, but that’s the way things go right now and I’m making the best of it as I can.

I’ll get through the dark days. I’ll work hard and push through when I want to give up. I’ll do that. But it sure makes the load a little lighter to have kind people there to walk beside you in the darkness, and celebrate with you when the light is finally shining through again. The tunnel is still very dark, but the light at the end is getting closer. I’ll get there one day, and I’ll keep fighting until I do.


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