My precious Dancing Queen,
Oh my darling, how you learned to dance for your dinner over the years. As young as three you would tuck your chubby little bear paw feet into your ballet slippers and the show would begin. As if you were trained in the womb to give the people what they wanted, what they needed. Amidst the yelling, the fighting, the crying you would swirl around them until they got caught up in your tornado of joy. It wouldn’t last for long, but at least for suppertime, there would be laughter.
By 13, you traded in your ballet slippers for a sky high pair of red leather pumps. A little wobbly at first but by the time you reached 16, you knew exactly how to dance for your dinner. Perfectly choreographed to elicit what you were craving most: a steady diet of attention, desire, and power.
Eventually blisters would form and you would try to keep dancing but the pain became too much. You pulled off your heels and for a sweet moment allowed your feet to feel the air. But the hunger returned and the only way you knew to be fed, was to dance. For the next 30 years, there were so many shoes. Slippers to comfort all those around you, sneakers to keep your weight in check, and sensible shoes to make sure your business didn’t fail. The blisters had healed and the pain was bearable so you danced on.
And then my precious Dancing Queen, you strapped on your final pair. A tall boot that laced from toe to tip. The leather threads wrapped so snuggly as they travelled up past your thighs, your chest, and then around your throat. The music stopped. You have thyroid cancer my beautiful Queen.
Here, let me untie your boots. I’ll slip them off gently. First, your calf and then your ankle and finally, your toes. Your toes are so cold my Queen.
We’ll lay you in the sun to warm your feet. As your toes begin to thaw you feel a warm energy pulsing. You dig your feet deep into Mother Earth as you sense their strength and power. Unleashed, they will carry you through recovery my beautiful Queen and onto the banquet that’s been waiting for you.
You will gorge on truth, and love, and freedom. Music will fill the air as you begin to breathe deeply, almost gulping it in like a delectable dessert. Your feet, bare and free, begin to rock back and forth. Your voice, open and clear, begins to sing. And with a belly full of grace my Queen, you will dance.
My original purpose of this blog post was to talk about setting Intentions for 2019 but I felt inspired to share this piece instead. Each year I like to share my own personal intention because it helps keep me accountable and I also hope it inspires you to share yours. So, my intention for 2019 is To Dance. Not necessarily physically (although as I posted previously I did sign up for adult hip hop classes. yikes!), but metaphorically. I want to show up every day with more joy, lightness, and confidence. I want to be willing to move in directions that are new to me. I want to be vulnerable enough to allow others to dip and twirl me without losing myself. I want to be grateful for the body I’ve been blessed with and do what I can to keep it healthy and strong. I will no longer dance for others, but my prayer is that by filling myself with music I might be able to help you find the music in you. Please feel free to join me on the dance floor.
Happy New Year my beautiful friends. xoxo
(the above piece was from a writing class I did with Martha Beck and Elizabeth Gilbert, Write into Light)