The initial time I began dancing at home was an unexpected joy. I had just endured a brief conversation with an ex, and my body reacted in its typical manner: racing heart, shaky breath, and trembling fingers. I required some relaxation. Searching for quick remedies in my apartment – my bed, some old chocolate digestives, and a pack of cigarettes – I opted for the kitchen radio, which had been softly playing in the background all morning.
Set to BBC Radio 6 Music, it was broadcasting a disco tune I didn’t know. Yet the rhythm was consistent, intertwined with the sounds of tambourines, synthesizers, and drums. I amplified the volume, and soon my body began to move: arms swinging, feet tapping, hips swaying. I flowed into the next track, surrendering to the sensation and becoming more animated to another lively 70s song, envisioning myself on a packed, sweaty dance floor. It was all quite absurd. But by the third song, my anxiety evaporated. I was grinning. And I felt more like my authentic self once more.
To clarify, I’m not a dancer. Not even a little bit. It’s a running joke with my friends, who have mercilessly ridiculed my moves for years. Regrettably, the mockery is justified: I possess no sense of rhythm, and my hips are so rigid that they can’t help but reveal this rather unfortunate reality. Nevertheless, I have always enjoyed dancing and have persisted at weddings, festivals, and parties. Since that day in the kitchen, I’ve come to realize that it also helps soothe me.
For me, anxiety has consistently shown itself as an overflow of energy. Depending on my underlying mood and where I am in my menstrual cycle, it can be triggered by anything, from a misunderstanding with a friend or a troubling work email, to a misplaced lipstick or an ignored Instagram DM. I have other ways to cope, but they either aren’t as healthy (sweets and cigarettes) or as readily available; exercise is beneficial, but not if I’ve already exercised that day, and I would certainly never ask anyone for intimacy on command.
Dancing, however, is always at hand. And I’ve observed that it functions by taking my anxious energy and converting it into movement. With good music, that same frantic energy that causes my body to tremble with nerves can easily transform into a clumsy dance move. If anything, the more awkward it is, the better. Because then I begin to laugh at myself.
I’m uncertain where the instinct originated. But as a devoted fan of Grey’s Anatomy, I suspect it’s linked to the show’s iconic “dance it out” practice, where the two female protagonists, Meredith and Cristina, frequently danced together during times of distress.
There are guidelines, though. First, the song must be new to me. Otherwise, there will inevitably be a connection or memory linked to it that will make it impossible to escape my mind. For obvious reasons, being alone is also beneficial; I have yet to find a “dance it out” companion. For even clearer reasons, it generally works best at home. But wherever it occurs, my little dancing strategy has revolutionized the way I cope, because whenever those anxious feelings arise, I know how to manage them. Or at the very least, how to bring back my smile, which is a significantly powerful tool than one might assume.
And if you happen to spot a short brunette awkwardly wriggling on the tube, please allow her some space. She’s merely dancing it out.
