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If she only knew…

She had no idea that the thing helping her hide would one day teach her how to be seen.

In this first photo, I am in a living room, concentrating with everything I have on a very awkward plié.

My knees are bent, my arms are trying to remember where they are supposed to be, and I am wearing my very first recital costume that was completely mine. I remember how beautiful it felt. Not expensive. Not perfect. Just mine. I felt proud putting it on, like I had stepped into a different version of myself.

What I loved most about dance back then was that I did not have to talk. I could disappear into the music and focus on the steps. No pressure to explain myself. No fear of saying the wrong thing. My body could communicate while I stayed safely quiet.

That little girl thought dance was her escape from using her voice. She had no idea it was actually training her to use it.

Dance taught me discipline before I knew that word. It taught me how to keep going when something felt uncomfortable. It taught me how to be in front of people while feeling exposed and still finish the routine. It taught me how to tell a story without speaking, which, years later, became the foundation for telling stories with words.

In this second photo, I am on a keynote stage.

Lights, audience, microphone. The exact things younger me would have avoided at all costs. And yet the feeling is strangely familiar. The same focus. The same channeling of nerves into presence. The same desire to move people, just in a different language.

If she could see this, she would be shocked that her safe place became her training ground. That the girl who loved dance because she did not have to speak would grow into a woman who teaches others how to use their voices with power and purpose.

She would not be amazed by the stage. She would be amazed that we did not quit when it felt awkward, when we felt behind, when we wished we were more confident. She would be amazed that we kept showing up to the barre, to the rehearsal, to the front of the room, long enough for fear to turn into fluency.

Sometimes the thing you use to hide is quietly preparing you to lead.

If she could see you now, what would she be proud you did not give up on?

Much Love,