Hunched over, chest caved in, my pelvis tilted back and my head and neck drooped forward. I had such low self-esteem, I didn’t even realize how I had embodied it.
I had made my self invisible. ‘Don’t look at me!’ my body was shouting.
I had a lot of work to do. Slowly and deliberately, I began to open up in dance class.
I was weak.
And it took some time.
But I wanted it–and when you want something bad enough you put in the time. I wanted to open up and get strong. And get flexible. And dance. And bloom. And, I bloomed!
My body, which had been trying desperately to balance itself–albeit incorrectly–was now correcting itself. It was awakening.
I was like a new leaf,
a new blade of grass,
a flower-if you will.
I watched in awe as my body grew and changed. My alignment aligned. My head finally became an extension of my spine rather than glued to my chest.
I had been lost in space; I wasn’t standing on firm ground before.
And now I was.
Where, before, there had been no center, now I was developing one. I was able to make the changes that brought me into balance:
Head aligned over ribcage,
pelvis dropped (with the small of my back long)
knees over feet,
feet solidly and evenly balanced into the earth.
(Head in the clouds.)
As my body grew it talked to me. As I began to open up my chest, and stretch my ‘wings’ it began to make a cracking sound.
What’s broken? I asked.
Me. I had been broken, cracked.
I was getting put back together the right way.
As I grew, for a long time my sternum made this sound. It was weird, but I was like a new baby chick emerging from the egg–breaking free.
It hurt a little.
Gradually it hurt less.
I kept going. Eventually the sound stopped. The cracking stopped. I was becoming a different person. A new person.
Even if nobody else noticed, I knew it and I knew I would never be the same. I had been reborn, blossomed and grew a whole new body.
That was step one.
There was more work ahead of me. I still had to grow the muscles in the proper proportion. More lessons to learn. My body became an astute learning recepticle.
“You take correction well,” my esteemed dance teacher said.
I was a willing student.
A sensitive instrument in tune with the dance contained therein–waiting to escape.
It wanted out.