Author: Emilee

My dad and I got back to the house on Saturday to try and get generators hooked up before the freezers defrosted. We thought we knew what to expect, but I really don’t think there’s any way to prepare you for anything like this. 

We couldn’t get in through the back door of my parents house because the ceiling had fallen in and blocked the door. Dad went in through the front door, cleared the back door, and came out to get me and the dogs. I asked how I looked and he said, “Bad.” 

He wasn’t kidding. The roof caps had flown off and there was a hole in my sisters old room upstairs. 

This let in rain throughout her entire room, which then also went into my old room. The ceilings had fallen out in both rooms as well as bathrooms. Closets are oddly okay. 

These pictures uploaded backwards. Anyway. 

It also did the same in our game room, which had all the stuff my sister was trying to move into her new house. The bottom part of the right window popped out, but didn’t break. 

These are all the upstairs rooms, so of course when the floors soaked here, it soaked the rooms below 

There were more places downstairs but I didn’t get pictures of it all. The biggest piece fell in my kitchen, directly below my bathroom. Which means all the stuff stored in there is probably ruined. 

My sisters house had some missing shingles and water and mud seeped in under the doors and windows. That’s where my family is staying.

My house, a 416-square-foot tiny house my dad built me, only lost a piece of tin. 

There was a tiny amount of water in my house. Hardly enough to dampen a towel. Out of the houses, I fared the best. 

We also lost three storage buildings and our barn. 

And flipped a conex. 

My car, which was parked next to the barn, is just fine thankfully, and the storage units were ones we needed to go through anyway so it just expedites that process. My dads shop will end up being a loss, but the stuff inside is okay. 

Over all, we really didn’t do too bad. We have friends who lost absolutely everything. Homes 4 miles from us in town (Bayside) absolutely flattened. 80% of Bayside is gone. My tiny town. 

The stories coming out of the storm blow your mind. My neighbor held his door closed the entire 4 hours the eye wall pounded us. If he hadn’t, he probably would have lost it as he did all the other buildings on his property. 

My best friend in rockport had a tornado go through her yard which lifted her house off the foundation and set it back down. The stuff inside is salvageable, but the house will have to be torn down. 

I’ve heard of trees through houses, I’ve seen trailers and mobile homes completely flattened, only identifiable by the grill. I’ve seen places where a building once was, but you couldn’t tell anything had been there before except for the cement blocks it sat on, and if you looked across the road to the open field, you saw the remnants of the building scattered. 

Cows in the road. Power poles snapped and dangling on the other side of the road. Metal poles at 90 degree angles from the base. 

Concrete buildings crumbles like blocks a kid walked through. And the trees. Oh, the trees. Rockport is known for its beautiful oak trees. They’re all completely stripped. 

Trying to find your way around town by landmarks is impossible, because the familiar buildings and lights and signs aren’t there. 

Businesses owned by friends completely flattened. An entire town unrecognizable. 

The schools have walls destroyed, the school district closed indefinitely. 

In Aransas Pass, the town where I work, the water tower even collapsed. The ceiling of the high school ripped off. 

Historical buildings in every town ruined beyond repair. 

And this was just the beginning. After it had its way with our communities, it continued up the coast to cover Houston and the surrounding areas in enough water to cover the entire United States in almost an inch of water. Enough flooding in Houston proper alone to fill two Delawares. 

Over 11 million people affected. 48% of the state of Texas. I don’t know if you’ve seen Texas, but it’s huge. 

Corpus Christi made out rather well. Most of the city has power restored and is back to business as usual. It’s rather odd to go from my house where destruction is and go to the studio where everything is business as usual. 

Thankfully, both of our studio buildings did just fine. The main studio didn’t even lose power. The brand new floor that delivered last Tuesday to replace the floor damaged from a flood downtown in June survived. No flooding there at all. 

I’m grateful, especially since I don’t know when I’ll get back to work. I still have the studio and can still teach. 

I had my class yesterday, and my kids were so well behaved it really was therapeutic for me. 

I was able to see many of my dear friends I’ve made since dancing, each of them genuinely expressing their heartache to know what we’re facing. One of my closest friends held me in the tightest, most comforting hug. It stays with me even still.

These are the things that make a difference. The genuine care and concern from people who love me. Knowing they would do anything in their power to help me. 

My family in Kansas loaded up a truck and trailer and headed down yesterday. Some of my dads Vietnam buddies are heading down Sunday with even more supplies. People sending cash. You forget you have bills and no income to pay them until you get an email reminding you, and at the same time a friend sends you cash and you don’t have to worry about it. And you didn’t even ask. They reached out, and even though you haven’t spoken in a while there was no stopping them. 

Seeing my childhood home in shambles didn’t make me cry. Realizing I lost two boxes of pictures didn’t make me cry. I’m pretty good with not crying. What did it for me, and what still does if I slow down long enough to think about it, is the kindness from these people and people like them. Everyone banding together to take care of each other absolutely selflessly. I can’t even begin to express my extreme gratitude. 

Right now I’m in the car on the way to Dallas with my friend so we can fly out to Florida to make our Harry Potter event we’ve been counting down to. I’m grateful to still be able to go. Honestly, part of me has forgotten that this is actually happening. So many sad things have happened and be seen. Things I won’t even put here because they’re heart breaking. Add on top of that I had a follow up appointment yesterday and was told to try hypnosis. My doctor doesn’t know what else to tell me. She’s absolutely baffled. As if I needed anything else to worry about. I’m already pushing myself to breaking because we don’t really have a choice, especially as all this first unfolded. This is a marathon, not a sprint, for most of the state, so to think about leaving for four days id be lying if I said it was an easy decision. My family wants me to go. They want me to get away for a bit. That means a lot to me. 

It also helps knowing I’m not leaving my dad alone. Until yesterday it was just the two of us. My uncles are there to help him, mom got home yesterday evening, and friends and various churches have offered to come out and help which has made a huge difference. I can’t even begin to thank them enough. 

I haven’t been able to journal about it much. Part of it being time, part of it being the fact that sitting is so painful, especially with how much physics labor I’m having to do that I probably shouldn’t be doing. 

It’s surreal. You see the pictures, you see the news, you see it happen to everyone else. Then you turn the channel, someone else happens and makes you forget about it. But then it’s you. And it doesn’t go away. You can’t turn your head and ignore it because the destruction is literally everywhere. You can’t cry and just want to be home because home as you know it doesn’t exist. Everything is different now. This is the first day of the rest of our lives. And even still, we have so much to be grateful for. We could have lost absolutely everything like some. We almost stayed. So many ways we were protected. 

I know people ask how could a God who’s so loving do something like this. But I think people miss the reality of who God is. We live in a fallen world. Humans chose sin and this is part of what came with it. My God is the God who told us to leave even though we always stay. He’s the one who made sure the buildings that are most important are standing, even if one is severely damaged. He’s the one who kept the dang cats safe. He’s the one putting it on people’s hearts to help where they can. God didn’t send this storm. He’s the one sending the restoration from the storm. 

God doesn’t forget or neglect His people. And it’s evident. Oh, is it evident. 

I hope you all are well and hopefully I’ll be able to get back to regular dance posts soon. 

Thank you to everyone who has prayed for and thought of us. It gives us an inner strength knowing we aren’t alone. 

I’m currently in a loaded down truck with two dogs and my Dad heading out of town. Hurricane Harvey is going to make a direct hit on our little town, just north of the city where my studio is. We originally were going to ride it out but things got worse and we had time to leave so we did. 

At this point we aren’t sure what we’ll come home to, but we did all we could to secure everything. My mom, sister, and 2-week-old nephew left with my sisters in laws this morning and Dad and I headed out a little before 10am. The winds were picking up and the rain was starting to blow in. 

I intended to have a blog post written yesterday, but the storm started getting ugly. I prepared my house the best I could by taking down my ballet painting and putting her on top of my bed and getting as much off the floor as possible. 

Before we knew we were going to get hit with an insane storm, ballet classes started this week. I teach on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, so I was able to teach my class Wednesday before things got really bad and we closed the studio yesterday. 

It was really weird knowing that I wouldn’t be staying for class. Even more odd was seeing my friends and dance moms and them asking what classes I’m taking and telling them, “I can’t dance anymore.” 

Everything escalated so quickly that I haven’t seen any of them for them to really have any inclination that this would be a thing. Last they knew, I was dancing the corps roles of our spring show while taking class twice a week, not including rehearsals. So to go from that to “I can’t dance” is pretty drastic. 

I explained that I’m still able to teach, but I have to have an assistant. They were glad to know that I’ll still be around and and not totally out of it yet. 

My class is full of 18 five year olds who seem to love life and are very chatty. They’re stinking cute and hopefully we’ll be able to get a good sense of order pretty quickly. Once I learn their names it will be much easier. 

It made me so happy to be back in the studio. I’m not sure what we will be coming back to when this storm is over. They’re expecting 120 mph winds and storm surges of up to 15 or so feet, with up to 35 inches of rain falling. Our downtown studio is prone to flooding and I’m not sure how the studio in town does, but we’ll cross that bridge when it gets here. 

Please be praying for us as this storm is going to be rather catastrophic. To be blunt, they’re telling residents in our town that stayed to write the name of their next of kin on their forearms with sharpie and tape it. Please also be praying for my brother in law who is a police officer in this town and is working the storm through Monday. 

It’s amazing how quickly things can progress. 

I mean, I know they could happen instantaneously and that really I’m pretty fortunate in how much I still have, but it’s all blowing my mind. I mean, this time last year I had come off a summer of dancing twice a week and was gearing up for a fall dance schedule I used to only dream of. I’d be at the studio 5 days a week, and when rehearsals started up, I’d go to the other studio one of those days as well, and then adding in another separate day, making it 6 days a week at a studio. 

But as I walked up to my dance teachers house for our annual teacher meeting before classes start, a pain started shooting in my left knee as I walked up to her porch. As I walked out later, the pain was still there. My knee popped, (like usual) and that didn’t help. I got home and walked next door to my sister house, and within two steps I thought of turning back around and driving the 400 feet it would take me to get there because I wasn’t sure if I could make it. But I did it anyway. 

I’m twenty-eight, not eighty-two. What. The. Hell. 

I’m going for an MRI for my back tomorrow, hoping it can give me some answers as to why sitting hurts now and what we can do about it. I’m assuming the knee issues has to do with whatever is happening with my back. We’ll see, I guess. My friend Andie and I leave for Florida in two weeks, and I need my body to freaking hold it together because I’m not missing that and I don’t want her to be wheeling me around the entire dang time. 

The staff meeting went really well. It’s nice to get all of us in one place and set out visions and goals for the coming year, as well as start with expectations of what we should be striving for as teachers. Having the teachers who have been there since some of the newer teachers were students is really cool. I feel like they’re just vaults of wisdom from all the years of experience. I can’t get enough. Plus everyone is so kind, I’m truly grateful. 

I was able to tell my dance teachers about my back. I hadn’t seen them since it’s acted up so I hadn’t been able to update them. They’re so great and supportive. They’re going to make sure I have an assistant in every class so they can do the demonstrating for me, which will help substantially. It would crush my heart to have to lose ballet, so my goal is to not have that happen, and having them be so supportive of keeping me on even when my body is turning against me means more than I have words for. 

They gave us these sweet, personalized, reusable bags 

Filled with lots of goodies!

Including 

Faculty shirts! How cool is that?? I’m super pumped about it. The picture is of Ms. Munro, which I absolutely LOVE. She so incredible. Her stories blow my mind and leave me in awe. We truly are lucky to have her. 

Classes start next week and I’m so excited to meet my kiddos. I even have my boss’ granddaughter in my Saturday class! It’s gonna be so much fun! 

We’ve all heard people say not to compare yourself to someone else. 

For me, it’s become one of the most annoyingly stereotypical comments, especially having recovered from an eating disorder and also now being in ballet. 

I’ve heard it over and over and over and over again. It’s successfully been drilled into my head. 

So why do I still do it? 

Sure, not in the same way I used to. I successfully don’t degrade myself over the fact that someone else is the size I wish I could be. I also don’t beat myself up when people are better than or more of a natural at something I’m passionate about. But that doesn’t mean I don’t still size up my small friends and wish I could look like them, trying to figure out what I could do to logically get to my version of that. Or that I don’t subconsciously count it as a mark against me when someone else is succeeding and my life is seemingly relatively stagnant. 

If this is something I know so well, why do I still do it? 

I guess part of it is human nature. We judge people because we are human, but there is a difference between taking in your surroundings to make judgements of how you need to act, etc, and being a judge mental jerk. (For lack of saying words I may not want children to read.) in the same sense, we compare. Personally, judging and comparing are two traits that help me in my day-to-day tasks. It’s largely how I know how to act and react and what’s appropriate. Sure, sometimes I miss the mark, but “reading the room” of sorts is a key part to me functioning in society. 

Knowing such, I know I’m also prone to be way too hard on myself. To over thinking and telling myself that I don’t have what it takes or I’m not enough. None of that is healthy, so when I notice myself going down that path, I try to stop myself and remind myself who I am and what I have to offer. 

(Sometimes this is way harder than it seems or should be.)

• It’s not a competition on if I’m “sick enough.” I don’t have to prove it to anyone, and frankly, getting a diagnosis isn’t something I can talk my way into. It’s  something proven by tests and blood work. I can’t control it more than the medical advice I’m given, realistically. I am me, this is my body and reality, this is my lot. Im not anyone else. I can only do what I can do about it. 
• Not having a significant other does not make me less of a person. Honestly, I think this one bothers other people more than me, and the fact that they’re bothered bothers me. (Though it’d be nice to be on someone’s insurance and have a second income. Yes, I realize how shallow I sound.)
• Amount of readers or followers or likes or anything else social media brings does not dictate my worth. I shouldn’t feel like I have to say or do certain things to reach out to people who don’t really care about me. The ones who care will be there. The new people I meet will come anyway. I can only do what I can and no more than that. Being fake to try and feel more successful isn’t worth it. 
• My friends love me for who I am. I don’t have to prove anything to them. I shouldn’t be afraid that they may not like me if they get to know me better. Should that happen, it’s not worth the stress of trying to keep up anyway. You’ll surprise yourself by how many people actually do accept you just the way you are when you’re true to yourself. 
• Doing what I need to take care of myself is a good thing. I shouldn’t be afraid of or feel guilty about doing that. 
• Giving myself the time and space to figure out new complications is healthy. I shouldn’t feel bad about it or beat myself up for the need of it. 

I could go on and on, and honestly I don’t know if anyone really cares about this post. I don’t even know if you’ve read it this far, but that’s okay. This post is more for me than it is for anyone else, and if someone else gets something out of it, then that’s a plus. 

So often in life, definitely in ballet, we find ourselves comparing our lives and stories and paths to other people’s. And what’s the point? You’re the only person in the entire world to have the exact experiences you do. Other people may be able to relate to some of them, but they’ll never be exact. Therefore, comparing is stupid. It’s illogical. It’s part of human nature, but allowing ourselves to be overcome by it more than is natural isn’t wise. We have to figure out ways to fight it. We have to look at ourselves in the mirror and know that we are worth it, just as we are. We have to fight to better ourselves for no one else but ourselves. We have to fight to keep living, even on the days we don’t want to the most. 

It’s not fair to let darkness steal any more of the light than it takes before we notice it’s there. Darkness happens, but we deserve light. Let yourself feel it on your face and embrace its potential. 

“Comparison is the theif of all joy.”

Fact. 

Fight for what brings you joy, for you. 

As I visited my sister, brother-in-law, and their new born son in the hospital yesterday, I was in tears.

I had just left the chiropractor, which I go to every other week at this point, having been in the worst back pain I’ve had since it really began three years ago. I told him this. He expressed concern. He’s sending me for a steroid shot to help until I can get an MRI done to hopefully see what is causing me to get worse instead of better.

While I’m grateful for the action being taken, I’m overwhelmed.

 

I don’t have “real insurance.” I can’t afford it. I am part of a co-op that helps with the big things, but most of the little things are left to me. I guess if you think about it, the difference might all come out in the wash for the rates I’d pay for actual insurance versus what I pay for the help I get. But I also don’t have a deductible to meet, so I don’t have to pay $6,000-$8,000 before expensive insurance even kicks in, and I don’t have to worry about being in network. I at least have enough connections to get me referrals to places I need to go. For that, I am grateful.

As I sat on the pull out bed my brother-in-law has been sleeping on and told my sister about my appointment, my brother-in-law asked me, “What did he say about you dancing?”

I laughed.

I laughed, and it broke my heart when I realized that was my reaction.

After the split second, I told him, “I can’t dance anymore. Not full classes. Teaching is okay, but I can’t make it through classes. And he’s okay with that.”

I’ve made an appointment for next Thursday to get the shot of steroids. My chiropractor was concerned when I told him that I’ve been getting worse, not better, and immediately suggested the referral to see what’s going on. I’m going to speak to my rhuematologist to see about an orthopedic specialist like she had originally suggested, but this way I’ll already have the MRI done and can bring them with me.

I put it off initially, thinking maybe it was just because I hadn’t been dancing. That I went from dancing so much to practically nothing so fast that maybe it caused the pain I was feeling. After all, it was around the same time. But then, going to dance didn’t help. The pain didn’t go away. So now I’m going to bite the bullet. Maybe it’ll be an expensive way of telling myself that I’m fine, but maybe it’s not. And if it’s not, if there really is something wrong, I should find out sooner rather than later. Especially since the pain is now starting to impinge on my every day life, making it harder to just ignore.

I cried when I left the chiropractor, knowing that this would be expensive, that things are getting worse. I cried when I called about the steroids to hopefully help, hearing the amount she quoted me as a self-pay patient. I’m sure I’ll cry when I get the call for the MRI referral.

I try my best to stay positive. Not because I’m this person that craps rainbows and sunshine, but really because of the opposite. I know if I let it all get to me, I’ll end up in a dark place I don’t need to be. I know it’s easier to take a moment to make myself pick out positives than it is to come back from being in a dark place. I know what I’m prone to, and I try to avoid it. But I also know the importance of embracing reality–I am sick. I am not getting better right now. Avoiding it will only make things worse later. My credit cards aren’t maxed out yet, I have some side income coming to me in the fall, I do have a co-op that should be able to help with the big MRI expense.

I try not to replay the fear I felt making that call to get the steroids. A fear that is difficult to explain unless you’ve experienced it. The unknown of how the call will turn out and if you’ll get shut down before you can even make the appointment. How I tried to convince myself I can do without it to save some money. I’m prone to reliving difficult situations, but letting myself do that won’t help the situation. I have to focus on getting through the next 8 days until I can even get the shot. Of telling myself that I can cancel up to Wednesday if I need to. That I see the chiropractor again on Tuesday. That things improving isn’t yet out of the question, and if they don’t I do have an appointment that will help me.

The whole time, I just hear this little voice in my head saying, “It’ll get worse before it gets better.” And if this is the “getting worse” then I just have to look for the “gets better” bit and hold to that with an iron grip.

Until then, I think of friends I have made through being sick. Friends that can’t walk, friends that pay thousands for each dose of medication they have to take just to stay alive, people who’s bodies are rejecting treatment. I think of the things I’m losing as paling in comparison. If they can do this, if they can endure, if they can find a way to wake up in the morning, then so can I.

If I can do it, so can you.

Ballet has a unique was of bringing people together–across generations and oceans and any other divide you can think of. It’s one of my favorite things about the art form, and I’m grateful to have such a great group of people I have met via Instagram that also share this love, specifically coming into it as adults.

One of these friends, Joanna Marsh, actually wrote a great novel called Cantique, inspired in part by coming into ballet as an adult beginner and the subtle ways it draws one in to itself.

Joanna has a blog she also runs that features the stories of different ballet dancers that began as adults.

While the blog is such a wonderful look into the lives of different people joined together by this common love, I take an extra, personal interest in it now. Not too long ago, Joanna asked me if I would be willing to be a part of her blog series and if she could interview me.

Oh-my-gosh-yes-are-you-serious-holy-crap-this-is-the-coolest
That’s about how it went in my head, no punctuation at all, and I’m sure actually more long-winded than I’m letting on. I was honored to be thought of, to say the least, especially in this time in my life where I can find myself feeling like I don’t really have much to offer since my life is so starkly different now with being sick and trying to navigate that. Yet, smack dab in the middle of that, comes this message asking if she could tell part of my story.

It’s something God has been teaching me recently, that being sick isn’t the end of my story but rather a part of it. And that can be the same for you, whether it’s moving or switching jobs, or family problems, or extreme loss, or whatever it is you might be facing. That doesn’t mean your story is over, it doesn’t mean that your finer days are done, it doesn’t mean you’ve done all the good you were born to do. It just means that you story is starting another chapter, for lack of less-cheesy words, and that with this you’ll see the point of all the complications. You’ll meet people you never would have otherwise and find fulfillment in life you wouldn’t have known otherwise.

I also saw a video this week of a woman diagnosed with a condition that gives her a very short life expectancy, and how she keeps proving them wrong. And how she realized her diagnosis isn’t an end all, be all. It doesn’t mean you can’t do all the things you dream or hope, but rather it’s just another way to do it all, another mode of transportation to get to your destination.

I’m grateful. Truly  grateful.

Days will come that will suck and I’ll be frustrated and feel like crap, but these days in between make it worth it.

(Reminds me of super old blog posts from the beginning of this blog that have similar sentiments about beginning ballet. Oh, life. How you come full circle.)

 

You can buy Joanna’s book here

You can check the post here

 

Thanks again, Joanna. I truly appreciate your friendship!

I actually made it to a class yesterday.

First time in, like, a month.

There were days I felt well enough to go before, but I was a bit nervous not knowing who the teacher is. Not that any of them could necessarily not be good teachers, but I realize that I am currently in a very fragile state and having something familiar in a place that I associate with safety is dire. It could easily sap me of any bit of optimism I have, or it could remind me that I’m going to be okay.

Summer classes start earlier since we don’t have to worry about a school schedule, so I knew if I left straight from work, I’d only be there about 15 minutes early. (Y’all may scoff at the “only,” but being that I live pretty far out it typically puts me about 30 minutes early. Which is too early in this sense. Fifteen minutes was going to be perfect.) I left the office at 5:04, class starts at 6.

I had driven the same route yesterday for my chiropractor appointment with no problem, but not even 15 minutes into the 45 minute drive, the traffic was already insane. I’m not sure if it’s due to the city’s potential and imminent growth coming early or if it’s something with summer or what, but I was tense and concerned that I wouldn’t get there on time. (The drive is a 35 minute drive that takes 47 during 5 o’clock traffic.) I looked at the clock when I was supposed to be 10 minutes away and noticed I wasn’t even half way there. I was stressed. My hair was still down, I’m not sure where in the depths of the car my shoes are, and I haven’t seen anyone in at least a month. I need those 15 minutes to center myself.

I walked in the door right as class was starting. Full of younger ones whom I love so dearly, I wanted to just hug them all and ask how their summer is going, but I had to get my hair up and they were already walking into the studio. One of the mom’s hugged me as I was half-ready, walking into the studio anyway, and said, “I love seeing you when you get to come to class.” And I knew she meant that genuinely from the depths of her heart. It made my stress melt away and air to fill my lungs again.

Thankfully I walked in to see one of my favorite teachers. She’s also one I don’t have often, but the classes of hers I have taken are ones that always left me feeling great. She challenges enough to push us past what we think we’re capable enough, while also not making it so hard we give up. I was excited.

I said hi to some of the dancers I was able to, and hugged the closest few before we got started. Barre was the challenge I expected and hoped for, and left me feeling so good. I was aware of my limitations, but also still able to do most of what I could before. I did do something to my left hip, but that used to be the norm so I wasn’t all too concerned. (And it doesn’t hurt me today.) The class is an hour and a half long, and barre was about 45 minutes. When we finished, I pulled my hand away and noticed it shaking. More than just a subtle movement, but full-on shaking. I did some quick calculating of how I felt versus the time we had left and knowing center would probably have some challenges and decided I–unfortunately–probably shouldn’t push myself. I went and told my teacher, as I didn’t want her to think I was just leaving because it was her. Turns out I hadn’t seen her or gotten to talk to her since I had gotten diagnosed (I used to see her every Wednesday between when my class ended and hers began and also at rehearsals) so I filled her in, but she has seen and known of many of my struggles, especially during Snow White rehearsals.

I didn’t think I could drive home the whole way without the threat of spacing out, so I waited in the foyer. Thankfully, two of the mom’s were still there, including the one who had hugged me before. We talked about the upcoming year and classes, my trip to Florida next month, and they gave me tips on things to make sure I see and do. As I was about to leave, another mom came in and my diagnosis came up. Turns out one of the mom’s there also has CFS and was telling me about things she tried that worked for her and ways it affects her. It was so great to have another someone there who understood it and even mentioned, “everyone is different. What works for me may not work for you, but it might be worth a shot.” It was simple and she didn’t have to say anything, but her doing so made me feel so much better.

Reality is my reality is changing. Substantially. By the looks of it, I may not be able to stay for classes, even on “good days.” I’m exhausted today and having to push through the work day anyway, which thankfully is full of things I understand, but unfortunately something I’m having to take more slowly to factor in my brain’s lag time and how heavy my chest feels. I do have Friday’s off right now, which is everything. Navigating the Fall will be something to adjust to, as well. I just have to leave myself room to be human and understand that my life isn’t what it was. I also have to give myself the time it will take to accept that in all of it’s layers.

My next doctor’s appointment is at the end of August. I’m hopeful that maybe we can figure out further depths to this thing, or even just note that it’s declining rather rapidly, and see where to go from here.

Thankfully, I write, which means most things are pretty heavily documented.

I hope to still be as active here as I can, though regrettably it will be quite a bit less from normal being that I can’t do as much. I’ll have my baby classes to keep me in the loop of the dance world, still, which means more than I have words for.

Thank you, friends, for staying along for this ride. You guys mean everything to me.

I haven’t been to a class in a while. I honestly don’t remember when, but I’m sure I could look back on blogs and find out. 😂 

In my online silence, I feel I have learned much:

I’ve learned that even when I’m unable to get to class, ballet is still very much a part of my life. I may be in bed most moments I’m not at work, but what ballet has taught me finds it’s ways of helping me in most areas of my life. Most recently, it’s been in the area of communication. I remembered something a teacher had told me with a correction, “reach your arm out longer. Longer than you think it needs to go. If it’s too much, I’ll tell you.” But she never had to tell me, because what I thought was too much ended up being the perfect amount. I applied this concept to communication, and found that what I thought was a dramatic overkill was actually what was needed and helped immensely. 

I’ve learned the importance of learning my limits, and that also pushing them is equally important at times. While talking with a dear friend of mine, she mentioned making sure that I didn’t use my diagnosis as an excuse to give up. That it’s important to listen to my body and what it needs, but whenever able to make sure I push those limits. Without that, I’ll lose the very thing that makes me who I am. She’s right. So while I have to throw in the towel way more than I ever wanted or thought I would have to, I will not be defeated. There’s much that is unknown, but all hope is not lost. 

I’ve learned that even when I’m feeling my worst, even when I’m unable to to do what’s required of me, let alone anything extra, even when I feel like my life has lost its luster and everything I worked for is slipping from my fingers, like I’ve lost every bit of influence I had or any point that made me enjoy living and helped me get through the hard days, even when trying to explain the depths of what it is im trying to relay to you ends in the most run-on of run-on sentences, still people find this blog, people read my stories, people connect and find something in it that speaks to them. It shows me that even when I’m feeling my worst, I am not pointless. I am not too far gone. I am not lost for all hope. 

I’ve learned that I have some of the greatest friends one could ever hope for. Ones that help me, ones that keep up with and check in on me. Ones that still follow my Instagram account, even when I’m silent for weeks with no explanation. I’ve found friends in similar predicaments, lending their own silent waves of understanding, showing me that I’m not alone. 

I haven’t written as much because I don’t want to just be all about the illness, but I have also come to realize that the illness is part of it. Classes start again next month, where I will be teaching and at least in the studio weekly if for nothing more than that. I hope to get into some interim classes, but so far haven’t been able to yet, sadly. But still, ballet has not left me. Everything it is and brings to the dancer still lives inside of me, still encourages me to keep believing, to keep dreaming, to keep pushing myself. 

It’s funny to think of how different life is now from last year, or even six months ago. The things I could do with minimal effort that now I can’t even consider because it’s too much. But even in thinking back on what I used to be able to do, I smile. Because I did it. I didn’t wait and wish and hope that one day I might dance, I got out there and fumbled around like a baby giraffe until it started to make sense. I chased my crazy dream until it came true. And it did. Just in time, it did. And no matter what happens, no matter if I ever get well or stay sick the rest of my life, no matter if sickness comes in and takes more from me, I will always have that. I will always know I dared to dream and my dreams came true. 

And that, my friends, is more than I could ever ask for. 

What makes me any different from you? Nothing. You just have to decide in yourself that you want whatever it is more than you’re afraid of it, and remind yourself of that feeling of euphoria whenever things get difficult. Because they will. Show up anyway. Try anyway. Push your limits anyway. 

Your future self will thank you. 

As I walked into the studio this morning, I found myself comforted by the familiar smell. I tried to describe it to myself, but it’s a hard one to explain. A mix of many things, including the age of the pier and beam building, the floors, the ac unit, and everything else that goes into it all. It’s only been a week since I was last there, but it felt like a bit of peace and security in my life at a time where nothing really seems certain, even the things that should. 

As I went through the classes, I found myself noticing things I wish I could capture; little moments I wish I could remember forever. This blog post is going to be a list of those little things. You may not care, but these are the things I love to look back on. 

• M’s immesnse ability to pick up on the finer details of moves and being able to do complex things with the different arm positions almost flawlessly. 
• S’s brother joining in for the warm up of class and actually loving it. 
• K asking where my assistants are, showing how much they impact the girls lives in a positive way. 
• E being so excited about ballet that it makes you excited. 
• The way they all insist on giving me hugs and high fives after class. 
• A being super cuddly in the beginning circle, always leaning her little arm on my knee. And the way she says her name is stinking adorable. 
• I always holding up three fingers and closing one eye and looking through them to show me how old she is. 
• The twins. Oh, the twins. 
• K not being able to say her s’s, being slightly pigeon toed, but really getting the concept of her heels being together in first position. 
• R being brand new last week, too afraid to do anything except for freeze dance with Maddie at the end last week, but this week doing everything and focusing really well. The way she’d go on releve to the very tips of her toes, completely extending through every inch of her body. 
• V noticing the little things like arm placement and straight knees and working on implementing them without even being corrected. 
• K giving me a glass figure of a dragonfly and flower and naming it rainbow. Also, her brother is super man and always gives me high fives. 

This brings me the greatest joy. Even on the days that are long and I’m exhausted and struggling, they remind me why this is worth fighting for. They remind me that my life is more than just fighting to get through every day. That I have a purpose and am doing something good in the world. They teach me as much, if not more, than I teach them. I don’t think they’ll even know what they mean to me. 

I’m hoping to have a bunch of them in class next year. They were all really dedicated and focused.  It’s a good group. I’m excited for their futures. 

The studio is closed for the month of July, except for a few interim classes for the older levels and adults. Hopefully I can make a few. 

I’m excited for fall. 

Recently a friend asked if posting on his Facebook wall about his cancer diagnosis was selfish. 

To which I replied that it’s his wall and something he is going through. How in the world was that selfish? 

Yet, I find myself doing it with my blog. I tell myself not to write about being sick so much because people don’t want to read about that. They want to read about ballet, about my journey with it, about all the cool things I get to do and the things I learn through this medium of expression. 

And then I realized that they are one in the same. 

I see my chiropractor every to every other week. I’ve been seeing him about two years now, and he is also an RN and rather invested in my whole health story. On Tuesday he asked me about some updates, then looked me in the eye and asked, “are you depressed?” 

It was a rather direct question, which would have really thrown me coming from my father. My dad and my chiropractor are friends, and I sort of view him as a father figure, but it wasn’t something I found invasive, just not what I expected. I responded, “definitely.” Then he asked, “are you beginning the grieving process? For your diagnosis? You were so active in dance and always doing something. This has put the brakes on.” 

It’s summer. Official summer classes end tomorrow, the last adult class was Wednesday. Out of the 8 potential classes, I made it to two. I was hoping to make it this past week, but I ended up too sick. 

From what? What could have possibly made me too sick to power through? I don’t get “normal people” sick very often at all. But apparently, I pushed myself too hard in cleaning my house on Friday, and that mixed with life stress kicked my butt even through the next week. A week later, I’m still struggling. 

I miss it. I miss class. I miss dance. 

I miss having time to get everything done that life requires. I miss being able to be busy, which makes me forget about all the hard things in life I can’t change. 

I miss seeing my friends and challenging myself. I miss learning new things and striving to perfect things I know. 

I wish I was able to tell you about all the cool stuff I’m learning and working on. That I could fill my blog with all the ballet things all the time. I wish I had weekly updates like I used to, trying to hold myself back on all the things I wanted to say to not make too many posts at once. 

But reality is, life is a thief that’s stealing the things I love. And I have to find ways to handle that. Thankfully, ballet isn’t out of the question entirely, and I am at a wonderful studio that will let me make a class schedule to whatever I can manage. If it’s making it to adult class, wonderful. But if it’s making it to a leveled class barre here and there, that’s okay too. 

I’m grateful to know that all hope isn’t lost. That I can still dance when I’m able, and there’s no pressure to do more than that. I’m extremely grateful that I can still teach, which helps me stay motivated to make the drive to the studio and fight for the thing I love. Not to mention the kids jump start my heart to remember why life is still beautiful, even when things are so very ugly. 

Dance has given me so many things I have in life that I treasure. Most of them are people, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world. Even if it has slowed down, I’m so very glad that I get to be a part of this ballet world. Even more so that I decided to take those first terrifying steps to pursuing this crazy dream. 

Keep dreaming. Keep fighting. Do the things that scare you. Find the thing that makes you feel alive and chase it with everything you have. 

Thank you so much for being patient with me. For sticking around, even when my life isn’t as “glamorous” as it used to be. Y’all are part of my heart.