TThe first time I started dancing at home was by luck. I had just had a brief conversation with my ex, and my body was reacting in the usual way: racing heart, shaky breath, and trembling fingers. I needed to calm down. Looking around for quick fixes in my apartment—a bed, a stale chocolate digestif, and a pack of cigarettes—I settled on the kitchen radio, which had been humming faintly in the background all morning.
Tuned to BBC Radio 6 Music, it was playing a disco track I didn't recognize. But the rhythm was smooth and mixed with the sounds of tambourines, synthesizers and drums. I turned up the volume and then my body began to move: limbs swaying, feet tapping, hips swaying. I continued into the next song, immersing myself in the feeling and becoming more animated to the sounds of another upbeat 70s track, imagining myself on a crowded, sweaty dance floor. It was all very stupid. But by the third song my anxiety had dissipated. I smiled. And I felt like myself again.
To be clear: I can't dance. Not even a little. This is a popular joke among my friends, who have mercilessly ridiculed my actions for years. Unfortunately, the ridicule is deserved: I have no rhythm, and my thighs are so wooden that they cannot help but tell this very sad truth. However, I always loved dancing and was always present at weddings, festivals and parties. And from that day in the kitchen, I realized that it also calmed me.
For me, anxiety has always manifested itself as excess energy. Depending on my mood and where I'm at in my menstrual cycle, it could be caused by anything from a miscommunication with a friend or an unnerving work email to a lost lipstick or a “seen” and ignored DM on Instagram. I have other crutches, but they are either not as healthy (sugar and cigarettes) or not as accessible; Exercise is great, but not if I've already worked out that day, and I would obviously never ask someone for sex on demand.
However, dancing is always available. And I noticed that it works by taking my anxious energy and using it as fuel to move. With the help of good music, that same frantic feeling that makes my body shake with nerves can easily be transferred into a terrible dance move. In any case, the worse, the better. Because then I start laughing at myself.
I'm not sure where this impulse first came from. But as a die-hard Grey's Anatomy fan, I suspect it has something to do with the show's famous tradition of “dancing,” when the two main characters, Meredith and Cristina, regularly danced together during times of turmoil.
However, there are rules. First, the song must be unfamiliar. Otherwise, an association or memory will inevitably become attached to it, making it impossible to get out of your head. For obvious reasons, being alone also helps; I have yet to find a “dance” partner. For even more obvious reasons, this works best at home. But wherever it is, my little dance trick has changed the game because whenever those anxious feelings arise, I know how to deal with them. Or at least how to make yourself smile again, which is a much more powerful tool than you think.
And if you happen to see a short brunette squirming awkwardly in a pipe, please leave her alone. She's just dancing.
