Heart jumping. Eyes shifting. Mind racing. My rapid breathing shakes my whole body and my fingers grip the side of the podium, trying to stabilize myself. As I stand straight and tall, my brain suffocates, wishing to inhale relaxation and exhale this stress. I stare at my scribbled notes, boring a hole through the page and actively avoiding the heavy stare of my classmates waiting to judge my speech. My trophies tell me wins are important and my teammates holding their breath doesn’t help. I try my best but frankly, even winning never seems enough. I worry that my research is not supportive enough, my arguments not convincing enough, and my rebuttal not clear enough.

For my small, scared, 10th-grade self, debate was like having a spotlight on me with a big neon sign saying “bad debater”. I cherished every win but cried through every loss. It was stressful and I was insecure, and that was not a great mix. Where I used to love debate, it soon started feeling like every practice was an emotional tug-of-war.

But once a week, I found relief through dance.

Whether in the back row or in the front of the class, my worries flew away and my mind could stay in the moment as I laughed with friends and relaxed through choreography. Mind distracted, body activated, and soul rejuvenated, it seemed like the day of bright, beaming energy in the turmoil of my after school life.

Sophomore year went by and I held my breath through debate but grinned through dance. Even still, I saw myself as a debater. Then, at the start of junior year, a new debate tournament became a possibility and I initially jumped at the chance to go, as it would be another chance to prove my smarts and my skills. But I had to give something up.

Dance.

My one day of sunshine in the storm of debate practices.
I didn’t know if I could do that, so I just sat in my room, at my desk, till midnight one day, just staring at my laptop, my stomach a deep dark pit of nerves and my lungs constricted by hesitancy. I had no idea what to do. My close teammate wanted me to choose debate and my friends wanted me to choose dance. The few medals, plaques, and awards that hung on my wall behind me were from debate, and so in my mind, debate was the rational choice. As I felt their stare from behind, every shallow breath reminded me of the accolades and prizes I got from debate, but also reminded me of the stress and anxiety.

My parents told me to go with my heart. And I knew my heart did not want that stress. Instead, my heart wanted fun, excitement, and joy.

And that came from dance.

A year later, I sometimes wonder if I made the right decision, but I assure you there is less heart racing, eyes shifting, and shallow breathing. And now, I dance every day. Always starting in a circle, surrounded by friends, talking and laughing, I feel content and confident. We warm up, and I drown in the music and stretch my muscles. I feel my body relax, my mind let go and my lungs take deep, calming breaths. We learn choreography, and whether I am in the back or in the front, I have fun and I feel the creativity and joy run through my veins.

Dance may not bring me medals, plaques, or awards, but it brings fun, excitement, and joy. Now, my heart is happy, my body is strong, and my mind is free. I can finally breathe, confident in the decision that put joy and passion over accolades and success.

© Erin. All rights reserved. If you are interested in quoting this story, contact the national team and we can put you in touch with the author’s teacher.