To my dance teacher,
You have saved my life. And not in a cliché way at all.
You taught me how to dance not with my feet but with my heart. You have taught me my passion. The passion I can pour my soul into and forget all the things that are tearing me apart, even if our routine only lasts for a minute and a half.
When I dance, I'm no longer living with depression, anxiety or even my mental illnesses. I'm just me. A human, a dancer. It all just fades away and I'm free. Nothing else matters in those moments.
Clogging is my therapy. When the music turns on, my mind shuts off and my body does what it knows best. I no longer hear the fear. The harsh thoughts. The voices screaming at me to just erase my existence from the world. Instead, I hear the sounds of our shoes trying desperately to overpower the music blaring through the speakers hung from the walls. Clogging is my therapy. It saved me. You saved me.
But alongside dance, you've taught me so much throughout the ten years I've spent with you. And I promise I'll never forget any of it. I'll always put cotton balls in my shoes to prevent blisters when we do toe stands. I'll always keep my nails cut short so I don't break them off and run my tights. I'll always put tape on my arms to stop my costumes from cutting them to shreds. But I'll also always dance with my heart because dancing with your feet means nothing if you don't love what you do.
And I'll never just light a spark. I'll start a fire.
So to my dance teacher... Thank you for giving me a place to escape the horrors of reality and a family I belong in.
