Another Night at the Barre

The idea of making shirts and selling them has been something in my brain for over a year now. 

At first, I kept it to myself. I thought I was crazy. They’re just shirts, who would want these? I put it to the side, tried to put it out of my mind, but it kept coming back. 

Then I tried to convince myself out of it. Tried to tell myself it’ll never work because i don’t sell anything else that’s Ballet related and popular to sustain the shop. 

Still, this idea of a shirt about beginning was in my brain. It was important to me. Time and time again I hear of adults nervous to begin. Time and time again I remember how absolutely terrified I was to begin. And time and time again I was reminded of how freaking glad I am that I did. 

Beginning literally changed my life. I step back and think of what I would have if I didn’t dance, and I can’t imagine life without it. I have made some of the greatest friends through Ballet. I’ve learned so much about myself, about life, about interacting with people. Not to mentioned how much teaching the babies means to me. I’ve gotten to do things I never even dreamed would be possible, like perform.  

It started with a little dream that wouldn’t shut up. A dream I couldn’t ignore that has turned into everything I know now. And it all started with a beginning. 

A scary beginning. A beginning that made me shake. A beginning that held more happiness than I ever expected. A beginning that has left me with zero regrets. 

So whether this takes off and is super successful or whether it’s a casual thing, that doesn’t matter. 

It’s worth it. 

This shirt is for you. To remind you that beginnings are worth it. That if it’s not scary then it doesn’t hold as much value. If you’re afraid of it, you’re doing something right. 

I’m so proud of you all. 

And I am so grateful to have y’all as part of my life. Thank you for your support and faith in me. 

❤️❤️❤️

I had my appointment with the surgeon for my back on Friday. It was a 2 1/2 hour drive up there and equally as long back. The surgeon spoke to me for ten minutes, where he told me how I was too young and my body could fix itself still and how if I were his sister i wouldn’t suggest having surgery. 

I was prepared for him to say no, to say I was too young, but it was the way he spoke to me that made me choke up and lose my words out of panic and frustration. It’s as though someone took an eraser and wiped out my brain and all the words I had prepared. Fear came in and reminded me how I pressed for a surgery before and where that got me—permanently on medication just to be able to eat and function like a normal person. He told me that he was on opinion and if I wanted to push for the surgery he’d do it, but he did not recommend it. 

I did ask him if I spoke to my referring doctor and he wanted me to pursue surgery, would I be able to come back. He said no bridges were burned and he’d definitely operate on me. That we would have another meeting like this, regroup, and then schedule the surgery. 

I had my chiropractor appointment where I upstated my doctor on everything that went down. I told him what was said. I told him how I was frustrated. I told him how I got in my car, called my general practitioner, and made an appointment to try and get a referral to a cardiologist and see what I need to do about a rheumatologist. I told him how symptoms that seem to point towards POTS have been getting more defined, and how the more I look into it, the more I wonder if that’s where this chronic fatigue is stemming from. I told him how I’m not convinced i don’t have hEDS, even if it’s not as extreme as some others. I told him how my cousin has POTS, and I’ve confirmed two more relatives to have symptoms like we have. I told him how I wondered if it’s all related and if so would surgery actually make it worse if it’s caused by something like one of these things or something similar. 

He got silent, face lined as one is when deep in thought. Said a few “hmm’s” as he mulled over everything in his knowledge base. Then he replied with, “I’m going to have to ponder on this one.” 

I appreciate this. I appreciate that he didn’t just shoot out an answer to pacify me. That he’s going to dig more into it before replying. That how these things could possibly all be connected is something to consider. How he believes me. He hears me out, weighs it against the science, and then responds. 

Brain fog has been the realest it’s ever been the last few days, and heading into the baby class today had me a little nervous. I love them so much and I was hopeful they would behave. 

Most did, but enough of them were distracted and talking that it made the class more difficult than it needed to be. A few even got on to the “sad face list” where if you get your name on this list and gets two marks beside it, you don’t get a sticker. It makes it difficult to have to repeat myself, to not have the whole class keeping up with what’s going on, to lose their focus and end up having to show the same thing numerous times. The class is big and we’re still trying to find what fully works for us. 

At the end of class, I had them sit down in their lines and I got real. 

I asked them if they wanted to know why it’s so important that they follow the rules. Besides what it does for them, if they wanted to know why it’s important to me. I told them, “I’m really sick. I have a thing called chronic fatigue syndrome, and it makes me really tired all the time. That feeling you get when you’re really tired at night and just want to go to bed is how I feel when I wake up in the morning and have to get through the day. I explained how teaching is hard but I love them and I love to teach them. I told them that when they follow the rules it doesn’t make me feel as tired, but when I have to get onto them over and over it makes me more tired and makes me feel worse. 

By this point, they were all silent. They were actually listening. Every one of them. And before I could even finish one of them, the sweet one I made cry a few weeks ago when her name got put on the sad face list for talking (and who wasn’t talking this time) ran up to me and just hugged me. Her precious little heart couldn’t take hearing about me being sick without doing what she could to make me feel better. One by one, other girls stood up and did the same, their hearts overflowing. By the end of it, we were in a giant, 20 person group hug, one of them commenting at the end, “Ms. Emilee! We broke rule number three we were all touching each other! That’s not keeping our hands to ourselves!” High five, little one. I explained that at that moment it was okay and allowed. 

I love these kids. These 5-6 year olds are full of life. They’re funny and charming. A good deal of them are really focused and work hard, many of them are naturals. It fills my heart to overflowing to see them remember things I’ve told them in weeks past, in their “ready position” at the beginning, smiles on their faces. It makes me melt when they come up and I think they have a question but they just want to give me a hug. These kids keep me as well as I am. They give me a reason to get out of bed and keep trying. They keep me in the studio even if I can’t really dance. 

I hope they know how important they are, how loved they are. I hope they know the world is theirs, that they can dream big and achieve those dreams. That sometimes life is hard, but if you look around there’s reminders of how it’s still beautiful. I hope coming to class is something they look forward to, something they enjoy. 

I love these kids and how they’re so full of life. They’re fresh, they see the world in the best way. Even if some of them have had the world hand them a hard deal, they don’t hate it. They find the beauty through the pain. They feel the pain. They process it. It’s admireable. And I hope as they grow they remember how wanted and loved they are, how important they are. How they have something to offer the world. How their story matters. 

They remind me of why I’m still here. Of what part of my purpose, my story, is. 

I could never thank them enough for that. 

My first dance teacher, Jilissa, puts on an international dance festival annually. It’s hosted at our local university, growing and improving every year.

They have three nights of performances, Thursday’s and Friday’s being adjudicated for the gala performance on Saturday. Companies come in from all over to perform as well, and the adjudicated performances are for the choreographers, making it an exciting weekend of dance. We also have all types of dance styles, from the typical to the traditional to fusions of everything in between.

Continue reading Bailando International Dance Festival. 

It seems that every time I find a picture to post on Instagram, I go to write the description, but it becomes such a novel that I backspace as I remember, “I have a blog for that.”

Instead of leaving you with a super long description, have a new post!

I had written about how hurricane Harvey knocked down the building where my first recital costume resided in a dresser, and how the dresser was burned and everything in it, including the costume. I had written about how I stood on the pile of building remains and cried as the reality of everything hit me. How I also had to pull myself together rather quickly as I didn’t have time into fall apart, and how this seems to be the story of my life. (And honestly probably why I’m so sick, let’s be real.)

Mom said she knows there were pictures of that recital somewhere, but we hadn’t found them yet, and honestly at this point I was too afraid to be hopeful. I had seen what happened to important pictures that were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and my heart had shattered knowing they were gone, irreplaceable.

While going through one of the boxes from the building, I found this

A picture of me and my friend Kayla on stage during our first ballet recital. It was 1995. I was 7.

I smile knowing that there is at least something remaining of my first year of ballet. Of the time that the ballet bug bit me and never left me alone. I laugh as I remember asking how to do first position since when I did it, my knees couldn’t straighten, and how you can see it in this picture.

There’s another picture stuck to the back of this one, and I carefully peel it apart and find this

It’s Kayla and me, after our recital, you can see my slight pigeon-toed tendencies and how Kayla always walked turned out, the writing from the  back of the first picture having bled over onto this one.

And it just makes me so happy.

It’s messed up. There’s water damage around the edges, pieces of the picture missing, there’s writing all across us, it’s warped. But it exists.

It’s me. It’s me and my best friend after our first recital, beaming at the camera, my moms hand writing sprawled across us, now a tattoo of resilience inked upon the photos surface.

I think I love the picture even more in its imperfection. I feel more of a draw to it. My life is nothing like perfection; it’s painful and complicated. There’s scars sprawled across my skin and more ahead for me. But it’s the hopenin this little girl’s eyes that has pushed me through all that. It’s the dreams in her mind that keep me going. It’s the comfort I find in knowing she would look at me with eyes full of wonder and be proud.

Life sucks. It’s hard. It hurts. And there’s no end in sight.

But life is still beautiful.

I started this blog about five years ago, shortly after beginning ballet classes as an adult beginner. 

It’s mind blowing to think of how much life has changed since then, even though it really doesn’t feel like it’s changed much at all. 

I’ve grown. I’ve learned. 

I’ve began accepting this life that is mine, even in all of its messiness and uncertainties. 

I’m not perfect. I never will be. I don’t want to be. I want to take these lessons I’m learning, this life I’m living and all it throws at me, and make something of it. I want to “live my life to show others it’s possible” even if I don’t know how I’ll really do that, or if I ever will. 

Along this road, I’ve met some pretty cool people. One of them is my friend Annabelle, who introduced me to Live A Great Story, an organization that encourages and helps empower you to do just that. To live your story and make it a great one. 

I applied to be an ambassador, and found out today that I was accepted! I’m really excited to get to know the other incredible people that were accepted into the fold, and to find out more of myself and my story and what it means to me, as well as what it could mean to the world. 

I encourage you all to do the same. To look at your life in all it’s seeming simplicity and realize the power you do hold to make a difference. 

Improve yourself. Change your world. Let that change affect those around you for the better, and watch as it in turn changes the world. 
❤️

People have asked me how it feels coming into nutcracker  season this year. 

Usually I’m gearing up along side the other dancers to tackle auditions, wait for the cast list to come out, and begin rehearsals. Then there’s the costume fittings and photo shoots and everything else that goes along with it. 

How does it feel? It’s weird. Weird, because it feels right but also like a part of me is missing. Weird, because it wasn’t entirely my choice to be in this position. Weird because I don’t know where things will go from here, how I even got to this place, or what to expect. Weird because everything is different. 

The cast list came on on Monday, and I’m on it. 

No, I’m not Rose and Snow, like the rest of the girls in the level I rose up in. I’m not even on the list for a role that technically requires dance shoes. I am on the cast list as a Party Parent. 

And I’m so excited. 

How is it that someone who was dancing in the advanced core roles just this past spring is excited about going from that to a role that is typically filled by adults on the board or dancers parents? 

Because since I started to realize that I’m not okay and something is wrong in my body, I didn’t think I’d get on the stage again. I didn’t think I’d be able to be a part. I thought my nutcracker days were behind me, except maybe being backstage helping with props. (Which would still be super fun.) but there’s something about the rush of the costumes and the lights and the music and the audience. I love being on stage. Being a Party Parent gives me that opportunity again. 

The party dad I’m with is a good friend of mine, as well, guaranteeing that this will be SO much fun. I’m excited to be around the kids that will be in the party scene, and thrilled to get to dance with my babies that are Clara this year. 

Life is weird. It keeps throwing blows at me. It could tear me apart make me feel defeated, or I can roll with the punches and take things as they come. I can choose to be grateful to have such a wonderful place that allows me to dance with them, instead of crying about the fact that I can’t be what I once was. It takes time to get to this place, and sometimes it’s harder to be here than others, but regardless I am so grateful. It’s going to be fun. 

If you’ve been following my blog for a while, you’ll know about one of my favorite family’s in the entire world–the Rowland’s. I danced with Cheyanne when they lived here and her sister Sarah is one of my babies. Their mom, Jacie, adopted me into the fold when I first came to the studio and has grown to become one of my most cherished friends. Due to hurricane Harvey madness, they had to come down to take care of some things with their house down here, meaning they were mere minutes from my house. 

I saw them last night at the studio, and then again this morning and y’all my heart is so happy. I haven’t seen them since they moved a year and a half ago. Getting to hug their necks and hear their stories and meet their pet squirrel as they get to meet my dog, it was so great. I’m so freaking happy. 

They leave tonight and I don’t know when I’ll get to see them again, but the couple hours we had made the world feel right again, even though so much has changed and we live among destruction. 

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I’m sad they’re going back home, but I’m so excited for the opportunities they have where they are, and for the time I got to see them. Not to mention for their ongoing friendships! 

This year has proven to be quite the challenge. 

One of my classes is already closed, having 16 girls enrolled. They’re super cute and love being there, but they also love to tell stories as most five year olds do. I have to figure out how to keep it fun, but also keep them focused. I’m trying to hard to learn everyone’s names to make it easier, but hot dang there’s so many names and many of them. 

My birthday was on Friday, falling on the day with my 5/6 year olds that are quickly becoming my favorite. They’re focused and full of life, and since it’s a bit of a smaller class it seems to be easier to keep everything on track. I brought cupcakes for them, and they were absolutely delighted. So stinking cute. At the end of class, they insisted on singing to me, which absolutely melted my heart. I should have filmed it. Such dang sweet kids! 

Saturday’s 6-7-8 year olds is looking really promising, though I worry the younger ones might get bored, not being used to the discipline of it all. I try and balance it all out as much as possible, having the discipline as well as still making it fun. I’m excited to see where it goes. 

My 3-4 year old class had twelve kids in it yesterday. Twelve. Last weeks class went so well, I actually got through everything really quickly, and this week I realized why. There’s a couple students that aren’t the best listeners. They weren’t there last week, making the difference super evident. I have to remind myself that I’m the teacher, and it’s my job to keep control of the class. That to not address their behavior isn’t fair to the other kids in the class who are missing out. Thankfully I had both of my baller assistants, making it at least possible to get through. I don’t know what I’d do without them. 

I was subbing two Friday classes, one of which I didn’t have an assistant for, the other I had gotten with one of the homeschooled assistants before hand to see if she could help me out. Thankfully, she was able to be there for the first one, which was the more difficult of the two. I didn’t have my assistant for my class, which usually wouldn’t be an issue that day, but i think having so many clssses without assistants for various reasons has gone a number on my body. By yesterday, i was in a lot of pain. 

I think I’m doing more than I should be doing, though at this point I don’t really have any more that I can cut out. I’m sure the dang hurricane isn’t helping things, since it’s making me have to do more than I normally would. Yesterday makes the second Saturday in a row that I almost passed out. Thankfully I have been able to sort of recognize the signs and be able to stop long enough to avoid it, and also know that’s when I have to stop. I’ve been trying to use my Sunday’s to do nothing, hoping it helps my body recover some to make it through the next week. I wish I had an extra day, even though I’ve literally had an extra day for the past few months since we haven’t been working Fridays. I can’t really do anything more than take it one day at a time. 

My Friday babies were super cute, and decided our feet looked like a flower. 

I. Love. Kids. 

My apologies for my semi-silence. Life has been pretty intense and all of that has been escalated by Hurricane Harvey. 

Quick update on that to get it out of the way, we have been working every day to try and get our lives back together. Having to sort through our house, barn, and three storage buildings as well as my dads shop and relocating them to other buildings, all while trying to figure out where my parents will live while their house is gutted and rebuilt has been exhausted. Have I mentioned I’m back to work? And most of our clients lost much if not everything? Good times. 

When they took apart the fallen storage building we call “the yellow building” to try and get to the boxes to see what was salvageable, my first ballet costume from when I was six remained tucked in the drawers of the dresser that went straight to the burn pile. When I got home from work and found out, i stood in the pile of remaining things to be sorted and cried. 

If you know me, I’m not a crier. But the overwhelming reality of it all hit me in the moment that I knew my costume wasn’t safely tucked away any more. That I could never pull it out to look at the year that stuck with me and started it all. That I didn’t know if any pictures remained, and if so if they had immense water damage. 

I distracted myself by going through other boxes to pull myself together. I didn’t have time to fall apart. We had about an hour before the mosquitoes got really bad and there was so much to sort. A couple days later I found a box with old books, including my great grandmas diaries and old pictures. Among them were many ruined ones, stuck together, ink running down to make them unrecognizable. Also among them were two pictures stuck together, the top one showing me and my childhood best friend on stage in that first recital costume. It had damage on the edges, but we were in the center of the picture. Close enough. My heart swelled knowing that something remained of the beginning of my ballet story. Of the recitals my grandpa attended, causeing the conversation I found myself coming back to as a dreaming teen and young adult, wanting so badly to become the thing I always dreamed of being. I also found the VHS of the ballet I watched until the film inside was ruined. (The Toy Soldier.) 

It’s weird having my reality so affected, continuously trying to put the pieces back together any given moment that I’m “home”, yet going to the studio and everything and everyone being back to normal. What’s more is the fact my office was largely unaffected, yet if you open the front door and look to the right, you see a house without a roof, contents from all the houses stacked on the curb. 

In a way, having the studio helps me have a sense of normalcy. I appreciate the fact that it is still there and things are predictable–well, as predictable as they can be with a new year and new students. 

On the other hand, it can be difficult to exist in a world where people have already begun to forget and move on while my family is still buried in the reality of the storm. 

Thankfully, I have some great students. They’re cute as can be and so full of life. Being around them helps me more than I think I realize. 

My Friday kids, especially. It’s the perfect class size and they’re so excited to be there. About half of the class are kids I had last year, and having that bit of familiar helps more than anything, I think. It’s funny, because you think that adults are supposed to be the ones to comfort and encourage the children, when really they can comfort and encourage you if you let them. 

I was a bit anxious for Saturday after having a Friday full of subbing classes with no assistants, one of them being quite a handful. (Ironically due to two of my students doing a make up class.) my assistant was there for my first class, but was pulled to teach the tap class at the same time as my second class. I was so incredibly proud of her and the fact she had this opportunity. She has such immense talent and works so very hard. She is kind, and the kids love her and look up to her. 

There’s one tiny baby in the 3-4 year old class who really took to her the first week. I was gone and there was a sub, and this tiny baby cried the entire time. Alexis jumped in and comforted her and encouraged her. When I came for my first week with the kids, I had hear of “the crier” and her mom came up to me and told me how much Alexis meant to her daughter. How she wouldn’t stop talking about her and even made sure that she was included in their nightly prayers. It made my heart swell. I get rather territorial over my babies. I love them as if they were my own, so leaving them makes me uneasy. Knowing that I have such great assistants here when I’m not brings me so much peace, I can’t even explain it. 

This week, Alexis wasn’t going to be in the class, but she brilliantly found the tiny baby before, explained to her what was going on and that she would hug her afterwards. She told her to have fun and do what I said and to tell her all about it when the class was over. And guys, it worked. The sweet girl rocked that class. You would have never guessed she had been “the crier” and she had so much fun, being sure to find Alexis afterwards to tell her all about it. 

Before class her mom found Alexis and I and gave us these 

How stinking cute are these cookies? She thanked us for being so patient and great with her daughter, and the little nugget even thanked us and gave us big hugs. I didn’t feel worthy since Alexis was the main reason this little one had done so well, but was so grateful nonetheless. 

This is what it’s about. This is why we do what we do. Inspiring kids and doing what we can to help them feel comfortable, while teaching them this art we mutually love. Seeing these girls I took class with and danced roles with stepping up and taking such huge responsibility, taking it seriously and being such great examples to the younger ones–I can’t even explain how much this means to me. 

I struggle every day. Between all the chronic illnesses and the pain and the emotional toll right now, not falling apart is a challenge. Having this, having dance, and having such incredible people in my life because of it literally makes the difference. I don’t divulge the details of the struggle here, though if you read these long ol’ posts you do get a glimpse, but please know that those of you that I have gotten to know, that have reached out, that have given your time or sent money or offered up prayers, those of you that work tirelessly to help me by doing what you’re simply committed to do, all of this is life changing. All of this is part of the strength people tell me I must have to keep going. You help give me strength. And I could never thank you for that. 

Thank you for being who you are. Thank you for caring about me. Thank you for being such incredible people and being in my life. 

As we close out on week two of post-Harvey life, friends on the other coast are on edge wondering what the next big storm will do to them, their homes, their friends and family, etc. 

I was just in this lovely state last weekend, having the time of my life at Diagon Alley and Magic Kingdom. 

If I went into the wonderfullness of this trip, you would be reading for quite some time. (Feel free to dm me on Instagram and I’ll tell ya all about it!) I did end up riding the Hogwarts Express with Chris Rankin, who played Percy Weasley, and who’s girlfriend also has CFS! So that was exciting comparing notes. I had seeny rheumatologist on Wednesday, the day before I left for my trip. She’s out of ideas, so I’m at a dead end again. Hearing from him that his girlfriend was having success with a treatment was a glimmer of hope I wasn’t expecting. 

I also ended up being in the exact same place as Allie, one of my friends I’ve met through the Adult Ballet community on Instagram. She’s been one of my favorites from the beginning. She is so passionate, interested in many of the same things I am, (hello Taylor Swift and Dance Academy) and just seemed like someone I would get along with. Sadly, she lives in Cincinnati, which is super far from me in Texas. Not sadly, I saw she, too, would be at Disney World last weekend. Even more not sad, she text me that she would be in Disney Springs as I was literally driving there. I was SO pumped! It’s always been a silly little dream of mine to be able to meet a friend from the ballet Instagram world in real life. I’ve made so many dear friends through this that I forget I haven’t met many of them in person. Getting to actually hug Allie’s neck, see her in real life, and get pictures and Polaroids with her was such a joy, I can’t even express it. And even more so, she’s just as sweet and kind as I gathered from her account. So often people end up not being what you except, which feels like a sort of disappointment. Not with Allie. 

We only have literal moments to spend together, but they were so worth it. Her cousins with her were really nice as well, and I appreciated them making our meeting happen. 

I don’t think she ever doesn’t look stinking adorable. Poor thing, I was a sweaty, disgusting mess. But OH WELL. 

Yesterday I was able to go through my old bathroom at my parents house, which was where my room was boxed and stored when my room was used as a spare bedroom. I wasn’t sure what was in there or where, so I was very anxious to get in it. It was on my list to do, but cfs was making things very difficult. Thankfully, some of my dear dance friends were able to come over yesterday and helped me go through the soggy boxes and put the stuff we could save into dry, sturdy boxes and get them out of the house in case it rains. This included my high school diploma, poetry, paintings, all my cds and even my Walkman and Discman (WOAH.) some of the poetry got wet, but Krista was able to dry it with the fan and miraculously the ink didn’t run. Some of the paintings had mold on them, but her girls were able to clean it all off and save way more of them than I expected. It was a huge weight off to have that done. 

My back has been in immense pain, which seems to just get worse and worse as time goes on. It’s been escalating slowly since mid-June, and I went for an MRI before Hurricane Harvey hit. Today I was finally able to get over to the chiropractor to get the results. In short, I have arthritis in my spine, as well as two bulging disks that are hitting nerves. #coolstorybro he recommended getting them clipped, which would consist of going to San Antonio at least twice, but would be an outpatient procedure. 

My chiropractor looked at me and said “how are you not in terrible pain? Most people would be screaming. This is no small thing and it’s definitely not in your head.” I just said, “I mean, it hurts?”

I can’t drive myself because hi back pain. And I’ve had family say “shotgun not it” about taking me, but had three friends so far offer to take me without me even asking. Like. Things suck and they seem to keep piling on with all these little things that I can just ignore or push through, but I’m still not left high and dry even in all this mess. 

I don’t know what I did to deserve having such incredible people in my life, but I’m not complaining. It’s literally everything. People tell me I’m strong or I’m so brave or whatever, but really it’s not me. It’s the people I have beside me. I’m nothing without them. Literally nothing. 

I taught my 5/6 year olds yesterday and had two assistants. Thank God. I literally couldn’t have done it without them. Like at this point, I can’t sit with my legs out in front of me without terrible pain. 5/6 year olds don’t care. (I mean they’re precious little nuggets but they’re also tiny little nuggets.) my assistants are able to just jump in and get stuff done and the girls love it. It’s a huge weight off my shoulders. 

Friends are everything. Friends are literally family. Friends are so important. I hope you have friends. If you need a friend, I hope you reach out, or if not I hope someone reaches out to you. And if you want to, dm me on Instagram or comment here and I’ll be your friend! Seriously. Do it. I’m an introvert but I love people. 

I hope you all are well. I hope you all are safe. I’m praying for everyone in the line of wildfires, hurricanes, hate, and oppression. I’m praying for you.  ❤️

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.