Tales of a Fierce, Fat, Fit, Femme: Dancing with Myself

As a little girl, there was nothing I loved more than ballet. I loved absolutely everything about it: the way the studio smelled, the feeling of the floor under my shoes, the muted pink colors, the messy buns and leg warmers the older girls wore, and the feeling of being out on stage under the hot lights, in costume. 

I fell in love with music from a young age, spinning my way through ballet class, doing yoga with my mom, running and jumping with my friends on the playground, and dancing and singing every chance I got. 

That love stayed with me as I grew to be a preteen. I loved ballet, but eventually gave it up for skateboarding and cheerleading, more modern pursuits, but still, I loved the movement and energy of dancing, skating, exercising. 

Then, I hit puberty, and everything changed. As our teenage bodies morphed and developed, mine held onto more baby fat than those of my peers, but also developed into curves that made me look older. That’s when all the trouble began. Ballet was really for the skinny girls; the chubby girls couldn’t go on pointe or star in any shows. I started to notice that all my favorite ballet movies starred stick-thin girls, and the one who was a fourth as curvy as me had an eating disorder to try and keep up with the others, but quickly got cut from the troupe. 

Cheerleading was also for the skinny girls, the more mainstream-looking girls. During a pep rally, I was so excited to wear my new, pink cami and shorts to match the other JV girls supporting the older squad. My outfit matched my best friend, who was incredibly popular, and it was my time to shine. Instead, the day ended in tears and shame when the principal pulled me aside and told me how appalled she was at what I was wearing. I tried to explain that I was literally wearing the same thing as my thin BFF, and got shamed and silenced for talking back. 

From then on, I didn’t like moving my body as much. I was no longer doing ballet, and I was kicked off the cheerleading squad. I didn’t feel confident enough to skate. I figured that the world of movement was for the skinny, not a world I belonged in. 

This went on for years. In college, I was relieved to throw myself headlong into my passion for punk and metal, because in those circles, “I don’t dance” was a cool bragging right, not an admission of defeat. And while I biked or hiked from time to time, and I found ways to move and be healthy, dancing was gone forever. 

Then, as cliche as it sounds, in my 30s, I discovered Zumba. I also discovered I no longer care if others see me dancing around like an idiot, or if every, single move I make can be called “sexy” with no jiggling of unwanted body parts. Seeing other, curvy bodies moving and learning modifications and ways I could move and get swept up in my workouts reignited the love that I thought was long dead. 

Today, I no longer care about my lack of rhythm, or the fact that I’m not a size 2 leaping across the stage in pointe shoes. I’ve rediscovered the love of dancing for the hell of it, and in the process, I’ve reclaimed a part of movement and fitness that straight-sized society would love to take away.