Belly dancing is going to save my life. It is that simple in a way.
After class this week, (my third ever hour of belly dance training), my teacher came up to me and in her bubbly, Rosie Perez-esque way told me that I better not stop because she'd never seen anyone dance like that off the bat.
I can't pretend that being good at it doesn't help how much I am loving it. It's huge to feel like my body is doing something "right."
But beyond this, it is the satisfaction I am getting from having a place where I can actually feel my bravery- in my muscle and fat and nerves- my body.
Aside from a few months of West African dance while I was living in Ohio, I haven't taken a dance class since I was maybe thirteen. Too much trauma- I couldn't feel myself let alone look at myself move. This year, like most years, I made it my resolution to start dancing again. A half hour into April, I am dancing everyday with classes on Saturdays.
I look in the wall to wall mirrors and am shocked that my body looks strong and tall and thick and not deformed. In fact it looks damn sexy and familiar. I tell my teacher the hip scarves are not one size fits all, I identify as fat and a dancer and she hears me.
And I dance hard. And it makes me feel like a whole person .
And so in the name of motion and push push push I have made a big ol commitment:
April is my birthday month. It's also national poetry month.
As an Aries and a poet, I am going to get a little linguistically AG on my own ass, aka I'll be doing NaPoWriMo: 30 Poems in 30 days.
Stay Tuned!!!
