Let it be

Some told me tonight to let myself tell the story of the song. What it means to me. And when I thought about it for even a second it was there. What I had to let it be.

My parents and I will always remember it differently. To them I never latched onto something, never wanted to do something so deeply as a kid. To me it was dance class. I remember watching older kids in the classes before me and thing. That’s going to be me. And well Fort Nelson had recreational dance and enough shows on school and the small dance companies. I’m not sure if it ever had competition groups. Realistically I was too young to really remember. And maybe mum and dad were right. I wasn’t dedicated enough.

But I remember watching countless versions of the Nutcracker, from Barbie to Tom and Jerry. I wanted to look like that. Twirl and sparkle. Wear tutus and fancy dresses. But the thing about dance is you get type casted after awhile, and you shuffle yourself into the places you can fit. And as a kid I’m sure I was happy to be good at something. So I did Jazz and tap. I even did hip hop. But I wanted ballet and I wanted point. Even if I was the chubby girl.

I don’t know if I was chubby because I ate too much and didn’t exercise enough. If it was genetics. If for awhile I didn’t see it. Until my belly poked out of shirts and I knew I was bigger than my friends. In my sailor costume. And by the time I was starting to get that girls can’t be tubby, bit like boys can. We were off and away to a new city. A new studio. But that was fine by me. Because I was still going to dance. Mum and dad found a place and off we went.

But they asked harder questions then mum and I could answer. Like what my placement was. And because they couldn’t really place me in ballet. I couldn’t do lyrical or contemporary. And with the cost of things I picked two classes. So I went with tap because it was one of my strongest and musical theatre because jazz was full this year. But Fort Nelson didn’t teach me the right things and my tap placement was wrong. So I was eventually taken down and became the oldest in tap.

I’d ask Miss J what I needed to do. And she said I’d need to be at the studio more. But I knew it wasn’t possible. I had school and there was the part about having to ask mum and dad about money. And that kind of money wasn’t something I could ask for. Since tap was slowly spiraling down hill for me, I leaned back into jazz again once I could get it. I was down to one class by then. Because school gave me more homework and money was tight. I wanted two. I really did. But mum and dad said I had to pick one. And so I did. I asked again what I needed to do to be better. Because while I was getting praised in classes by my recreational teachers I saw other friends and classmates in competitive classes. When Roseanne got her point shoes I had to do my best not to cry. But I kept asking because I knew I was getting older.

Miss J said I needed ballet. And I would need to lose 20 pounds and hope my boobs would get to big. I couldn’t be in the classes for it anymore. So I practiced in the basement. Made up my own dances. Threw myself in being so good at jazz they’d have to let me in. But besides a few times of getting to try lyrical with Roseanne and loose promises of maybe you’ll be able to get one of the studio scholarships they give out at rehearsal. I just wasn’t ever going to be enough. Plus my boobs where getting to big. I hadn’t trained enough as a kid. They didn’t know my history from my old studio because it wasn’t a legit one. Just a small town studio. And it was just something I did for fun.

I told myself one day when I’m older I’ll be the dancer I want to be. I’ll have the money myself so I won’t have to worry about how many classes I take. Because I can still be a dancer.

I didn’t realize you aged out. I didn’t realize that big girls in jazz class don’t get fair. That girls who don’t tell there parents what they actually wanted don’t get fair. By the time I left the studio. I was skipping lunches more often and sometimes breakfast too. I picked youth group over dance because one dance class cost more than a whole year of youth group. I wanted dance but even at 16 I thought of mum and dad. It wasn’t there fault of course. I’d just made myself the third adult in our house. That’s what older kids do. And I had a special needs sister. I was needed at home not the studio.

My parents always ask me where the pressure came to be so good at school. To be so worried what they’d think of me…. I always thought I didn’t know. But I did. It was from the studio. When Miss J told me she’d be honest with me and said. I just didn’t have the body for it, the money for it, and the talent to make up for it all. I had to accept that I was a past time dancer not a star. So I let it be.

I danced in swing dance groups and learned partner dances. At a cheaper cost. Went to weekly dances with friend groups. My Christian friends thought I was impure for loving Blues and tango. But I told them it was just dance. They told me only husbands and wife’s should be chest to chest. But I kept sinning in their eyes. I kept dancing. Because in the back of my mind I was still going to get there. I was getting really good at partner dances. Maybe just maybe this was my way in.

When I left for university. I looked for something right away. I found the university swing club. I tried so hard. But if I thought GP was bad for being a little religious. This group was worst. This group was not an everyone can dance. No you can only dance if you have a partner…. And no tricks if you aren’t an instructor. I remember feeling the passion dry up. And with deep regret. I finally let it go. Not be…. But go. I wish I’d found the place I found later back then.

I still danced and threw myself into song when I could. I snuck into the theatre rooms late at night. Danced in the halls of the university and even learned K-pop dances with co-workers. Even when I hated my body and looked in the mirror and repeated the words I’d heard so long ago… “people don’t watch fat girls dance”

So when I found you. This brand new place. It was like coming home in a way. Sometimes it’s kind of scary. And I feel like I don’t belong. Sometimes I look in the mirror and hate my 44DD or what ever size each different store says my boobs are. I pick apart my body and others tell me not to. I always love them for it and hope they don’t mind having to tell me it sometimes.

Because even though I’m not as sharp as I once was. Even though I likely won’t ever get my real pointe shoes. (Thank you Rosie for letting me try yours and try and mold myself into it). Or will ever be able to split as well. I feel like I’m home. I don’t have to be the best anymore. I’m allow to watch everyone and loce everyone in different styles, hopefully they don’t find me too creepy for staring. Or being distracted by how crazy good they are. Because I think I finally let it be. And decided to be the dancer that I could be and not the one everyone else said I couldn’t be or that I had to be.

And while this isn’t the whole bits of pieces of the story of my dancing life and studio horrors. It’s the screenshot of the long years of yearning and wanting. Of breaking and not ever being enough. To finally just being me.