Confronting The Wall of Mirrors
A few weeks ago I started Monday night belly dance lessons in Ossining, about an hour north of Manhattan for those of you who live elsewhere. I have always wanted to take belly dance and so I was thrilled when I found a class that was affordable and conveniently located directly between my office and home.
Our teacher, Nahara, is talented, lovely, gentle, encouraging and fun. I can’t imagine a better way for me to confront the dreaded wall of mirrors.
My first wall of mirrors was in a ballet class when I was 5 years old. A room full of little girls in leotards all excited to move our bodies like the ladies we saw at the ballet. Honestly, I think the thing we were most interested in was playing pretend ballet dancer because it’s not like any of us was thinking about a career. Sadly, that room full of little girls came complete with a room full of disappointed mothers, desperate to push their pretty little darlings into the spotlight. I remember being pushed to the back of the line by mothers more competitive than mine, stepping in to move their darling to the front.
There was also a dance teacher who told me that I would be the only kid in class not allowed to do the “Falling Leaves” movement that the other little girls practiced. All the girls would line up at one corner of the room and we were supposed to flutter. Quickly moving on the balls of our feet, our arms raised up high over our heads and then fluttering up and down, like falling leaves. I wasn’t allowed to be a falling leaf because the teacher said I didn’t have the right body type for that movement. That was the day all the other kids in class stopped talking to me. For fuck sake, what kind of miserable hag singles out one little kid in front of the entire class for having a “wrong” body?
I remember tearfully looking over at my mother fully expecting to see a look of outrage on her face. I fully expected her to come running over to defend me. I fully expected her to insist that every kid who paid for the class got to practice every movement that every other kid in class practiced and they got to do it with a smiling and encouraging teacher. But that isn’t what happened. Instead, I saw the face that I would see every day from that moment, until I finally moved out of her house and stopped talking to her for several years. That was before we got a few issues handled. But back then, when I was 5, she was ashamed of her chubby daughter with the frizzy hair and the wrong body type to be a falling leaf. Hell, maybe she still feels that way but now she knows not to tell me, not even “for my own good.”
So here I am facing the wall of mirrors again but this time it is wonderful. I know that my muscles aren’t familiar with these movements and that I am clumsy, but the brilliant Nahara tells me that I am doing great. I know that I am the largest body in the room but all the girls in this class smile and chat before and after the class because our body shape has nothing to do with our friendship. There are no pushy stage mothers here – just women looking to feel good and have fun. I love the music and the scarf with coins that I wear around my hips. I love to watch myself shimmy and shake and learn choreography. And even if no one else outside of that classroom ever sees me I feel like I have finally gotten to be a falling leaf, and I am the prettiest leaf ever of all time.
Yay! Good for you, good for Nahara! Good for the women who are having fun now, as adults.
Wow! I am so proud of you. Way to go! Enjoy!
Oh, the story about the falling leaves movement makes me so mad!
It also makes me want to be a dance teacher!
I wish instead of that mean, stupid woman you had a kind, enthusiastic teacher, one who knows that all bodies are good bodies, that dance is INTERESTING when performed by different-sized and shaped bodies.
I’m so sorry your mom didn’t do what you had expected (what I hope I would do for my own daughter).
The needs to move, to be appreciated, to shine are all common and you are a beautiful leaf, no doubt.
Gawd, this was timely.
I just took my first bellydancing class tonight. I’ve been wanting to do it ever since a took a 6-week leisure course on Gypsy dancing 17 years ago. I’d had so much fun and felt so sensual. Of course, I was younger and much lighter then.
I’ve been working hard at making peace with my body the last 6 months or so, and this class was to be a part of that. Getting some healthful physical exercise that was fun rather than drudgery.
But oh, that wall of mirrors.
I thought I’d made peace with being as fat as I am, but apparently I have a ways to go. My reflection made me feel clumsy and uglier than I’ve felt in a long time. The mirrored wall in yoga didn’t do that — somehow this was different.
It hurts.
But I signed up and paid for 5 more classes. It was a great workout after all, and that’s why I was going, right?
Right?
Great post. If it makes up for it at all, I am outraged for the child you and so glad you’re getting the best revenge by living well and loving yourself. I had a gymnastics teacher tell my mom that I would not be allowed to even try certain things because of my body type, and she took me the hell out of there and got me into a great martial arts studio. Much better fit.
On another note, I do so wish I could find some belly dancing instruction around here. I did just get a DVD, so we’ll see how I feel about that.
I’m just sitting here crying. Thank you for your beautiful comments.
Your story is so beautifully written it makes me ache for that little girl wanting to be a simple falling leaf and having no one support that desire. EVERY body deserves to dance. EVERY body deserves to feel the pleasure of whatever movements they are at all able to do! And I just feel so much joy for you getting to feel the start of that now in front of similar mirrors, with different experiences being reflected!
Oh and on a less late-night poetic note: I LOVE bellydancing!! It feels great to find new muscles and move them in unique ways; accenting parts of my body that I’ve spent a lifetime learning to hide!
You are so much braver than I am.
I signed up for belly-dancing, but I let the wall of mirrors defeat me.
Dance. Flutter. Fly.
I don’t even know you, but I am so proud of you. Bellydancing is so much sexy fun. Enjoy it!
Ballet-for-kids should be outlawed. My ballet teacher took like, one look at clumsy me trying to dance, probably picking my nose or something (I was not a very girly little girl) and asked me to tell my mother I didn’t like class and didn’t want to come back. At the first class.
I was five.
Those women are ruthless, and I still don’t dance.
This brought tears to my eyes. The last sentence was so beautiful.
@ pyewacketsid: Yes. That IS right. You are taking the class because dance is a great workout AND because it is fun.
You said in your comment; “I thought I’d made peace with being as fat as I am, but apparently I have a ways to go. My reflection made me feel clumsy and uglier than I’ve felt in a long time. The mirrored wall in yoga didn’t do that — somehow this was different.”
I want to say (what is probably already obvious to you) that it isn’t your reflection in the mirrored wall that “made” you feel clumsy and ugly. It is the way that we women doubt our attractiveness and this is something that all women have in common, no matter the size of our bodies.
I have found that looking in the mirror at home and saying out loud the things that I find attractive about my body (not just my face) has been incredibly helpful in feeling pretty. And by the way, I do this naked.
WOW! Great and inspiring post. So sad that these negative messages can have such a huge impact on young lives. LOVE that you are dancing!
I have loved bellydancing for more than 10 years, and I take a perverse pleasure in the thinner women who are new looking me up and down as though I’m mad – and then outdancing them all. Get your shake on, and love how it looks in the mirror.
My mother had the same problem with me in gymnastics. It’s a lot to recover from, but I’ve learned in my body that fat women can be as athletic, lovely and strong as their thinner counterparts. It seems so perverse that we’re encouraged not to exercise if it’s something we love doing.
Oh, Corinna! This is so beautifully written and inspiring on so many levels.
It makes me crazy angry that precious little Corinna was treated that way! And all of the other little ones who’ve had such negating and heart-wrenching experiences. How can people be so cruel!? I am inspired to defend the children and the adults who are targets of this sort of abuse.
It thrills me to see you triumph over that — with your dance, with standing up to your mother, and with your strength and love of yourself and your body.
It elates me to see your experiences and passion touching and inspiring others.
And I absolutely INSIST that you dance for me next time I see you — wear your coins!
Big fat hugs!
I LOVE belly dance! It’s so incredibly fun and it’s for every shape of body! I particularly love this dancer: http://www.youtube.com/user/nikafeyrouz Anyway, I started taking classes about a year and a half ago and it’s one of the best things I’ve done for myself.