I Just Wanna Dance - Lessons I’ve Unlearnt About Difference by Neen Cohen

I had a conversation recently with a friend about what I’ve come to call my ‘don’t care I’m dancing’ mindset.

As I thought later about where this obsession originated from I kept coming up again and again with memories of myself dancing. But not like I dance now. These memories are all from me dancing alone and in private, and I did care. I cared so much that I wouldn’t dance anywhere else. Especially not in front of anyone. But I struggled to make clear any memories of dancing from before the age of 12. This wasn’t right. I can remember other things from when I was younger. I can remember times from before my father passed away when I was five. So why wasn’t I remembering the dancing?

Being the over-thinker that I am I dug a little deeper and I searched a little more. And what I found shouldn’t have surprised me. But it did.

I had once been as carefree with my dancing as I have been the last few years. So what happened during the intervening time and what brought me back? And what the hell has this got to do with pride? Bare with me and hopefully by the end it will make a little more sense.

I’ve heard stories about the early years of my childhood that I still don’t completely remember. Lots of stories because my siblings often like to bring them up as examples that strengthen whatever argument they are having at the time. Some of these stories contain moments of my carefree spirit and all of them are centered around me dancing. Up in the treehouse. Under the macadamia nut tree. On the top of the slide at the local park. In my sleep. Apparently no time or place was safe from me and my not always coordinated need to move with the rhythm. Whether the rhythm was in my mind or filling the world around me, it didn’t seem to matter. There was always time to dance, and apparently no place was too dangerous or out of bounds.

Until I couldn’t bring myself to dance, to move with fluidity if anyone was watching me.

It turns out not all the things that shape us are sharp corners and single moments. Some changes are slow and insidious, inconsequential until they became stacked up one after the other like a totem pole.

My sister loved to create 80s and 90s choreography to pop songs. I freaking loved it. The choreography not only had to be good enough for my sister’s liking but we had to be light enough so the record, yes that’s right the record, wouldn’t skip if we landed too hard on the wooden floorboards.

I learned there were rules to dancing and you couldn’t just dance because it was fun or made you feel alive. You had to be good enough and light enough to be worthy of dancing. To be worth teaching more moves and routines to.

But that was okay. I could practice in private and I could still learn the routines and dance it ‘correctly’ in public. Except, some of the joy disappeared because ‘correctly’ meant I focused more and more on the steps than how it made me feel. But you tell that to an eight year old who didn’t want to be excluded from the fun activities the older siblings were doing. So, I still danced. Not as freely as I used to, but I still loved it. And that could be enough.

But then the stones of back handed comments started and the totem pole of embarrassment, and being different built. The moments of self doubt crept in little by little.

I distinctly remember a cousin finding me practicing one of my sister’s routines. They laughed when I finished it and started talking about how my sister would never keep teaching me routines if I kept putting on the weight … I was eight! But the words mattered and so did the evidence.

I started noticing different things about the dancers I saw.

I watched alongside with my family dancing competitions as we always had. The costumes were beautiful, the movements magnificent and while the steps had to be the same, each dancer put their own unique flair into their steps and expressions and movements.

Now I started to notice their shape. Short or tall they all had the same shape. A shape that at 11 I noticed I already didn’t fit in to.

The totem pole was growing taller with every word and visual I saw that reinforced one truth.

I was different and I didn’t fit in. I was wrong in wanting to be a dancer because I loved it because it made me feel more than anything else ever did.

Looking back there’s no wonder she stopped dancing. No wonder she stopped enjoying the way it felt when she moved her body. No wonder it didn’t matter how perfectly she managed to hit those steps. She would never look like them and so she could never be one of them.

And I believed them, because who was there to tell me they were wrong?

And yes, I can hear the collective ‘ah’ from yall. I told you it would make sense soon. But let me make it perfectly crystal clear so there is no confusion. Representation matters!

It took a lot longer to understand the internal homophobia I had to unlearn. And then even longer to realise it wasn’t just homophobia but phobia to all the letters of our beautiful queer family.

Last year during pride month I finally shed the last of the untruths. The last of those lingering icks that were 100% learned reactions. Not all of these untruths were about dancing, or even about being queer specifically, but the lessons remained the same. Simply because you can’t relate directly to a specific situation doesn’t mean you can’t be kind and accepting. And never forget, tolerance is absolutely not acceptance.

Do I love every single thing about Pride. If I think about it no, probably not, but others do and they have a right to feel joy about the things they love and are passionate about. They deserve the right to dance without judgement and to be who they are without erasure or argument.

We all need to see ourselves represented in who we are and who we can be. If you’ve ever felt in the margins, or on the outside looking in. If you’ve felt different then you know how isolating it can be.

It’s time to get rid of the untruths and embrace the differences. It’s time to dance, or write, to paint, or dress however makes you feel the joy of living.

I continue to dance and focus entirely on how it makes me feel. Come join me anytime, to dance, or to find somewhere safe to be you. x

Interested in Neen's work?

Check out her Saphic adventure novel The Void - Book One, in the Fang Ripper Series. Every where books are sold. Book Two coming out within the next 12 months!

Also free on Kindle Unlimted. books2read.com/FangRipper1