I was five years old when my innocence was snatched away from me. A grown man clasped the little me, stroked me...
In this bumpy and frenetic ride we call life, dance was usually my safety net.
The days where either my stomach, heart, or soul felt empty, dance would be the remedy and make me feel full.
I was on a collegiate-based dance team and the intensity of our routine and practices started to affect me physically.
Once I realized how injured I was physically, the reality of my mental health caught up to me.
I felt as if every aspect of my being was being threatened and questioned.
I was plagued with these brooding and unnerving thoughts and I couldn’t seem to shake them off.
As I was starting to get back into the swing of my usual routine, dance started to feel more mundane and vanilla.
I had a brief hiatus and used that time to reflect and reinvent myself.
It’s been a couple of years and I’m still not at my best but I’ve made strides and I commend myself for that. I’ve finally found the heart for dance that I left back. Alienating myself from my passion was only to combat the toxic and debilitating emotions. I’m a girl in progress and wish to keep fighting the good fight. There might be times where I feel black and white but dance will always be my color.