I'll say it. I was freaking TERRIFIED to attend my first belly dance class.
I was six when I started dancing, a silly, awkward little girl with high hopes of being a ballerina. I was the gawkiest kid in the class, but I loved it. I think my parents only agreed to it in the hopes that it would have some positive effect on my unending clumsiness. Even to this day, I can dance around like a dervish, spin and twirl and shimmy, but the instant I get backstage I stub my toe on something and a string of expletives come streaming from my mouth. Ballet lasted a few years, and then I got out of it only to get a general knowledge as I grew of standard theatre dance; a little jazz, a little Fosse, a little country (I will never do Oklahoma again...ugh).
I remember having lunch with my father in law at his place one day not long after I met him, and I was intrigued with the scattered medieval and middle eastern decor in his house. He's a SCAdian, a re-enactor of the Middle Ages, and he's been in the SCA for ages. He's terribly smart, dreadfully charming, and one of those men I knew I would love the instant I met him. After all, I loved his son, and he had to get the charm from somewhere. He had suggested to me on several occasions that I get myself into a Belly Dance class, and I always blushed and shook my head. I was too short for dance, too heavy, too clumsy. Now, my father in law is not by any means a small man, and he told me to 'get over it' because HE had done it. He urged me at Pennsic War one year to get myself into a workshop, and I was too embarrassed to give it a whirl. But my curiosity was piqued.
I was faced with the dual issue of WANTING to learn, and being too afraid too WORRIED to learn. What if I was the wrong body type? What if I was too clumsy? I wasn't coordinated. I wasn't even close to anything considered graceful and my body was a major concern. I was all wrong for belly dance, right? I mean, we all had that visual of the stick thin woman with huge boobs draped in sequins and silk and dancing before the sultan.
That visual cracks me up now. Not because I have any issues with it, but because I didn't understand the comraderie and sisterhood, the friendships I would develop over the years.
It would take a weekend away from home with some girlfriends, a hot tub, a crap ton of wine and some video from a hafla to get my interest high enough that I wanted to actively look for a class. I was assured that not only was belly dance a great way to get off my butt and do something good for my body, it was a style of dance that embraced all forms of women. I watched the video, pleasantly surprised when one of the ladies came out with a giant jolly roger veil and did a routine to the Pirates of the Caribbean theme. And she was CURVY!
I ended up taking another two months finding a class close enough to home that wasn't going to break my bank, and I was so excited until the night of the class. I was terrified. My stomach was in knots, and I remember crying before I left. My husband shooed me out the door, urging me to go and at least try it before I freaked out. He closed the door behind me, and with dread in my heart, I walked to the car. I reluctantly took the fifteen minute drive to Lake Geneva, sniffling and shaking the entire way. I suppose it would have been far easier on me if I hadn't been going by myself. A friend always seems to make those uncomfortable situations slightly less intimidating, but there was no one near me interested in going, and the only person I thought would enjoy it was three states away in Michigan. So I drove, white knuckled, into town and found parking. It took me ten minutes before I got out of the car and headed inside.
Once there, I was the complete opposite of my usual self. I felt quiet, introverted, too shy to start conversations and try anything at all. The place smelled strange, like incense and candles and something sweet. I huddled in a corner until someone in the class approached me, smiling and introducing herself as a regular. Her demeanor immediately relaxed me. She then introduced me to the instructor, Hyette, a lovely woman who was very friendly and urged me to relax and enjoy myself. I signed the papers to get started, and then began two of the most influential hours of my life. I was totally engrossed. Those two hours sped by so fast, and when they were over, I found myself sad and wishing they would keep going despite the delicious ache in my legs.
I was officially addicted. But addiction or not, a whispered voice in my mind told me that I had no business being here with all these skinny girls and tall, thin women. So three weeks into the class, I approached her after the cool down and quietly sighed. I said that she could be honest, and if I had no business being here, I would love her to tell me so because I know I'm not thin, and I don't want to embarrass myself. She looked at me as if I had sprouted a second head, and just smiled. She put one hand on my shoulder and said that I was being silly. This dance, she told me, was a celebratory art form that encouraged women, and indeed even men, of all shapes and sizes to enjoy themselves. She explained that yes, some moves might be harder for me to pull off than others, but on the other side, I would have a much easier time at some moves than the thin girls in the class. I wiped away my tears, feeling incredibly stupid, and offered her thanks. I signed up for another 8 weeks, and never missed a class unless I had a convention.
I know there are girls out there that want to give this art form a try, and they feel intimidated. They feel they have no coordination, they have no rhythm and no grace. They feel awkward and funny, or too fat. And I am here, going on record, to tell you this: Don't be silly. Belly dance changed my life, truly. I love it as much as I love doing my artwork. It's a form of expression, a way to weave a pattern and tell a story. It has made me healthier, helped me loose weight, given me a new lease on life and an outlet for my frustrations. I may still be the clumsiest idiot half my friends know, but it makes me feel graceful and lovely. And it does wonders for one's self esteem.
Don't ever let anyone tell you that you aren't right for this dance form. Anyone who does is a hater, and rule number one is ignore the haters. Never feed the trolls. Get up, dance, and SHOW them you can do it better. Trust me. You'll love it. ;)
~Shanaz
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