Transforming Fear

I had an enlightening visit this week with one of the most terrifying moments of my adult life; it has given me precious insight into my paralyzing performance anxiety.

When I won the Carol Gay award for the best undergraduate paper in 2002, I traveled to Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania to present my ideas at the Children’s Literature Association’s annual conference. I was so certain that they could all see right through me, like I had no skin at all. They must all know that I was writing about childhood trauma because I was such a completely broken person. They had to sense what a horribly neglected and invisible little girl I had been. I was so burdened by all of that old shame that I even decided that they had given me the award out of pity. The last thing I could imagine was that my brilliant writing and compassionate vision were so creatively inspiring that I might actually deserve an award for an outstanding paper. Ink and tears have always lubricated my healing journey; words are my first true love.

I was so panicky and flustered that morning while the first paper was being presented. I tried to take a sip of water in between the deep breaths to calm my nerves and wet my perfectly dry mouth. My shaky hand knocked over the glass instead, so I spilled water everywhere just before I was supposed to start. I ran into the bathroom for paper towels, looking for an escape hatch that wasn’t there, and burst into tears. It was so hard to walk back into that room to blot up the spill. By the time I laid out the rough brown towels, it was time to start.

Everyone could see that I was a wreck trying to speak in front of people. I told them that I was terribly anxious, hoping that stating my truth would bring some measure of relief, but there was none. My panic was so full blown that I felt like I was dying in front of all of them. I just read my paper as slowly as I possibly could, knowing that my extreme adrenaline level would set an unintelligibly fast pace. My hands shook, my tongue was uselessly parched, my voice cracked, nervous sweat poured off of me. I kept stopping to take a deep breath and apologize for my intense anxiety, still hoping that it might let up if I faced it so directly. Nothing helped even a little; I was reduced to being the retarded poster child in the before picture for anxiety medication. That day was so completely embarrassing and defeating for me, in fact, that it was exactly what it took to get me to finally give in and fill that prescription for Xanax. No more weeklong panic attacks for me, thanks.

Laura blessed me with a different version of that story this week when she realized that my performance anxiety about dancing had reached an unbearable pitch.

The room was filled with conference attendees who were really excited about hearing my paper on “Horton Hears A Who” by Dr. Seuss. My anxiety was obvious and painful, but everyone felt it with compassion. More people are afraid of public speaking than anything else in this world. As soon as I started reading “Big Pitchers Have Little Ears: Challenging Adult Participation in the Silencing of Children,” any pity they might have felt for my state dried right up and they all leaned forward in fascination, struggling to hear past my shaky stuttering and dry mouth. They were clearly stunned by what I had to show them inside the picture book, especially the dramatic perspective shift so blatantly portrayed in the layout of the landscape itself. It didn’t matter how afraid I was, I was walking right through all of that ridiculously amplified terror to carry this message to them. If courage is facing the fear and doing it anyway, then anxious people like me are freaking superheroes with all of the terror we have to move through to keep going.

Laura told me that they all saw my courage because they could tell how hard it was for me. They saw my brilliance and loving kindness and wanted more. They were all so happy to applaud for me at the end. I had to run and hide and weep with shame at how crippling my fear was, so I never saw how much they admired me and wanted to connect with me to explore the ideas I had presented.

None of them missed the significance of my message that day: Horton was a courageous hero because he insisted on hearing the important truth of the tiniest creatures and carrying it through terrifying and dangerous circumstances to the place where it could actually make a difference in the end. And there I was, shaking in my shoes, holding up a tiny little world on a blossom of a paper for them. I was breaking so much of my silence that day about my own heroic personal journey, shouting with every little Who down in Whoville that WE ARE HERE!

When I wept this week as Laura told me her version of that day, I finally felt that relief I had been so desperate for up there at the lectern. It meant so much to have a witness to that terrible ordeal who could give it back to me now, this week, as I find myself floundering again in performance anxiety about my first dance solo for friends and family coming up this weekend. That day is my best example of overwhelming terror of that exposure of the most vulnerable inner self in front of others. I thought it was one of the worst days of my life, but she showed me that it was an accomplishment after all. I didn’t even know.

Everything inside of me that was coiled so tightly in fear about this Saturday shifted gently as I realized it couldn’t possibly be worse than presenting that paper. I love dancing; it makes me happier than anything ever has before. I just have to do it in front of a tiny crowd and then sit down to drum for the other dancers. If my knees won’t stop shaking, it will just look like I’m layering everything with a shimmy.

Blood moon

“Like it or not, witches are drawn to the edge of things, where two states collide. They feel the pull of doors, circumferences, boundaries, gates, mirrors, masks, and stages.” ~ Terry Pratchett

No matter how intently I listen for that response from the universe, sometimes the answer is not what I want to hear. I get so many clear resounding YES replies now that I have transformed my life into one gorgeous risky leap towards bliss after another, that this big yucky NO is totally discordant and jarring.

I was so excited about going to my first sweat lodge this coming weekend, certain that the invitation I received was a serendipitous blessing to help guide me on my path towards my first sacred dance performance on the fourteenth. I imagined that I would spend the evening visualizing exactly what I was supposed to do to follow my path; I envisioned the whole truth would open up inside of me in that perfect choreography that I was born to dance. Now I am back to that horrible feeling of sliding and falling and not knowing how to catch myself.

How ironic that I have started my moon-time at the fullness of the Blood Moon, and that my most powerful magic turns out to be the very thing that will prevent me from being allowed to attend. My cycle is early this month, probably from being so intensely athletic in constant proximity to all of those delicious tribal belly dancer pheromones.

My masseuse told me today after she worked out the wicked knots in my shoulders and legs that it was important to rest. But now that Kami Liddle’s six-week series of extraordinary classes is over, I have already started taking at least three yoga classes a week. I am challenging myself to wake up earlier and earlier each day to get to even more early yoga classes. No matter how far behind I feel, I am going to every troupe practice and trying my hardest to keep up. After being so petrified for the past thirty years, stillness is not a practice that interests me much. Because this advice irritated me so distinctly, I can see that it is the direction I need to go. Meditation might have the answers I was hoping to find in that kiva.

The only thing more anxiety provoking than the idea of getting on stage now is the thought of continuing to sit backstage even while my cue plays on and on. It is time for me to step out into the light, into my life, even if I am so scared I don't know what to do.

Listen

by W. S. Merwin

with the night falling we are saying thank you
we are stopping on the bridge to bow from the railings
we are running out of the glass rooms
with our mouths full of food to look at the sky
and say thank you
we are standing by the water looking out
in different directions

back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging
after funerals we are saying thank you
after the news of the dead
whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you
in a culture up to its chin in shame
living in the stench it has chosen we are saying thank you

over telephones we are saying thank you
in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators
remembering wars and the police at the back door
and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you
in the banks that use us we are saying thank you
with the crooks in office with the rich and fashionable
unchanged we go on saying thank you thank you

with the animals dying around us
our lost feelings we are saying thank you
with the forests falling faster than the minutes
of our lives we are saying thank you
with the words going out like cells of a brain
with the cities growing over us like the earth
we are saying thank you faster and faster
with nobody listening we are saying thank you
we are saying thank you and waving
dark though it is

Here she comes

"Not only is another world possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing." ~ Arundhati Roy

Potential energy

The excitement of my dreams of dancing haunts me today like my old pain used to. It is constant, this longing; pulling me to move in the direction of my bliss like a gigantic cartoon magnet that dwarfs even my biggest fears.

I cannot just sit back like I once could and wish myself different or better or more involved, shoulding on myself until I am paralyzed or wasting time deferring my desires to someone else’s.

The decisions I make today do not even involve whether I follow my dreams or not. I am already charging forward on the path towards my bliss, with the kind of energy that can only come from being frozen in waiting for so many years. Even as I relax my posture enough to speed myself up, I am utterly terrified by my own forward momentum. I know that my goals are absolutely inevitable because my longing for them is true love, every single step the purest form of prayer I can offer.

I have never worked so hard for what I want, just because I wanted it. In the past, my accomplishments were so many ways of covering and recovering all that shame. This is vastly different in nature from all of those forms of escape; I have done so much peeling and uncovering to get to this place. Here I am naked, draped only in my passion, having cast off all of the layers others have tried to put on me. My longing is totally unguarded; I am a woman in love, more fierce than ever before because I am letting go of the armor that has always protected me from this greatness.

My floodlights are on the perfect present and how I can use all of this potential to manifest my bliss. The control I have is whether I dance for just three hours in class, or practice for a few hours before that as well. Even in the perfect stillness of meditation, I am envisioning myself moving forward, upward, onward, unfettered and full of grace.

As I sat lovingly watching other dancers perform last night, I felt the swooping kinesthetic bliss of each movement pulling at my core. Even though I have been in that chair for each showcase, it was so awkward to be in a seated position when my body wants to lift and tuck into dance posture. My discomfort with sitting on the sidelines has become nearly frantic. I am so close now to moving through my fears. Who knew I would finally do that layered with a shimmy?

Green-eyed dancer

It happened in the hallway after dance class.

One by one, they all passed up the chance I have been dreaming of every single day while I sweat and shimmy and push myself harder. They blew off that crazy dream that I can’t stop myself from trying for, no matter how much my inner critic screams that I will never be good enough. They just brushed it away like a gnat that would be back in five seconds. I thought I would lose my mind.

The uproar in my head was nothing like their indifference. I sifted through a mess of encouragement, befuddlement, outrage, and then it hit me: I was just jealous that they could take it or leave it. How could they say no to a dance gig when they could say yes? How could they seem bored by what I was dreaming of? Why would it matter that they didn’t have a costume for a last-minute notice performance or that school was tomorrow when the show was just down the street?

I felt like stomping my feet in frustration. I wanted more than anything else to be ready to jump at the chance. Because, with some choices, you can’t really say no until you have the option of saying yes. And I am really just not ready yet. Just color me green with envy that they all had the talent but not the time.

The show was beautiful, by the way. I was the happiest audience member in the history of dancing. It was the perfect solo performance, a spectacle of love that broke my heart all the way open again to remind me why I keep trying so hard in spite of all my fears of failure and success.

Best class ever!

"Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it." ~ Goethe

Tonight I went to my second week of ATS belly dance classes at Yaarajaan (Yarn&Jam) Ethnic Dance Academy. Even though the room was packed full enough last week that swords were scary to dance with, I was the only student there tonight. Thank Goddess for the long holiday weekend coming up, Burning Man, sore muscles, or whatever kept everyone else away this one time. Maybe I did it with my mind, because I was so completely thrilled to have the private lessons manifest that I have been wishing for.

I have felt so frustrated with my arms for a year of classes now, so it was an exquisite delight to have hours of detailed instruction on snake arms for mayas and arm undulations for taxeems and torso twists. I saw that my mayas have gotten lazy since I have been doing so many on my knees at home every day; I need to bring my intention back to quality instead of quantity so I don't unlearn what my body already knows.

I was hoping I could get a little bit of help with floor work to help me choreograph a special piece for casting a sacred circle at the next experimental night of belly dance at the Egyptian Tea Room on 14 October. But instead of doing just a little work, we blocked the whole thing out, measured out the performance space, and improved all of the notions I had immeasurably. What bliss to have a teacher who not only sees dance as sacred, but also seems as invested in this as I am. The difference in my confidence level has changed so dramatically; I was furious with myself for volunteering to do my first solo, and now I am so excited to figure out more of the little details. This is exactly what has been missing all along from my spiritual practice, and I am finally opening up to letting divine grace flow through me and move my body through time and space.

As if that wasn't enough, we also layered 3/4 shimmies with zills and took turns leading the drills. All of those elements have been so intimidating for me, and it meant the world to me to have help doing them. I was pushed past fear and paralysis and embarrassment, to a place where I can see my reflection in the mirror clearly without crumpling back in on myself.

She asked me why I dance

Most of my birthday presents last week were related to dancing. I just had the time of my life stage managing, dancing, shopping, playing, and attending workshops at Tribal Café. Tonight I will go to my ninth belly dance class of the week. I have been fantasizing about having this many classes to go to, and I am in heaven. I am hoping that my brilliant teacher will have time for private lessons this month as I prepare a special spiritual choreography that is swirling in the back of my mind. The scale is not on the fritz when it indicates that I have lost sixty-nine pounds of fat since the worst of my depressive, sedentary obesity. Friends are delighted to see how happy and healthy I have made myself in the past year.

When asked why I dance, my whole being lightens up with a rush of warm ecstasy I never thought I could know. It is easy to see that this brightening bliss is my truth. I am exploring joy like never before. When asked why I dance, I have to look back at why I haven’t been dancing all along. Like so many people, my life story had a beginning that was terribly sad. My reaction to all the traumas I faced was a sharp intake of breath, an automatic bracing into total paralysis, a freezing over to preserve all of the precious things in me that were so vulnerable. I became so still and quiet, I was almost invisible. I feel as if I have been a wallflower all my life, looking on and waiting for this delicious thawing out of all my frozen places. I am fully alive and absolutely exhilarated when I am moving, sweating, lifting, shimmying, stretching, aching, trying so hard every day to push myself a little more, to reclaim the fierce power that is my center.

My hero, my inspiration, the sweetness of my long-awaited unfettering, was the exquisite beauty of Sabrina Fox sharing so much love in all her dance. She is the perfect teacher that I am finally ready for, after so many years of trying to learn to be good to myself and follow my heart. When I saw how much divine grace channels through her dancing, I saw Goddess embodied in a way that unlocked that imprisoning armor around my spirit for the very first time. I was so compelled towards her path.

Sabrina had a vision of connecting with me through my activist efforts, to bring Tribal Fusion belly dance to the women’s community through the Women’s Resource Center. I was so excited to imagine all of that loving kindness released to the bodies that could use it most. Of course I had to try to participate in such a beautiful adventure. I was discouraged at first with how hard it was to keep up with the intense warm up and drills, so I decided that I should start practicing at home every day. Now I am moving and taking classes for hours each day, so completely opened up to the bliss that is every step of this wonderful healing journey.

Although I only agreed to take her classes if I would never have to perform in public, my dreams of dancing with her on stage are the happiest dreams I have ever had. I couldn’t imagine a way to get past my anxiety and make it that far. Then this weekend at Tribal Café, she gave me what I believed I could never have; she took me by the hand out onto a stage and danced with me. I have never been so terrified and so certain that I could trust someone completely all at once. It was so perfect to be surrounded by all of the people I love the most, even if they had to drag me physically past my resistance. I was surrounded by love, and perfectly connected with the dream of dancing with my dear friends in Atash Maya and Tribal Union. The love was so much bigger than the fear, it barely even mattered that anyone could see.

Though she is the best dance teacher I could ever wish for, Sabrina has taught me so much more about courage and strength than she has about dance. I have known all along that I would do anything to follow her. I just had no idea how much she would do for me. Dance has brought so much sparkly magic into my life; I finally feel that perfect connection between mind, body and spirit. My daily spiritual practice has risen up from simple meditation and mindfulness to a shining gratitude that lasts through all of my waking hours and many of my dreaming ones. I will let it take me past everything in me that has ever held me back.

Dreamy

Have you ever had a dream so good, you smiled and laughed in your sleep? Have you ever felt yourself pushing and fighting against the certainty of wakefulness?

I awoke this morning from a dream of dancing. In my dream I could do all of the things I wish I could do in real life. I was so graceful, whipping through turns flawlessly, flowing through every choreographed combination with poise and ease. There was no pain in my shoulder, no thought connected to having perfect dance posture and grace. I wasn't hot or flushed or dripping with sweat.

The most delightful part of the dream was that I felt perfectly unashamed to see myself in the mirror while I moved; I had this moment of connection with what it was like to be totally unafraid to be seen. I was a dancing superheroine. I could do anything. I never wanted to leave that dream.

Stupid alarm.

Shhhh! Just let it happen.

"To meet everything and everyone through stillness instead of mental noise is the greatest gift you can offer to the universe."

~ Stillness Speaks, Eckhart Tolle