It Feels Like Failure
“I’m failing at dance.”
They were the first words out of her mouth as she walked into the room, deflated by a challenging practice. She slipped her bag over her long arms and tossed it onto the couch. I could see the defeat in her deep blue eyes.
“Why do you say that?”
“All the other girls are so good. I can’t jump like they can, can’t do as many pirouettes, I’m nowhere near as flexible.” We were a month into a new dance season in a new level, the kind of level that separates childhood dance enthusiasts from those that were ready to get serious about the sport.
And honestly, I knew this conversation would come someday. My sweet girl, with her legs for days and blonde head built to hold that giant brain of hers, has never been the most agile. She is gorgeous and presents much older than she is, but her natural motion tends to resemble that of a newborn giraffe rather than a graceful ballerina. But goodness, does she love to dance.
When she was two, we put her in a trial run of a toddler dance class at the community center. She spent all six weeks of class parading herself around the room, mesmerized by herself in the mirror. She didn’t listen to a word that the energetic instructor said to her, but she certainly excelled at self-assessment. We figured that would be the end of our dance days, but a few years later, she eagerly expressed interest and we gave it another go.
The frilly costumes and sweet recitals were just the icing on the cake after watching my firstborn daughter listen intently week after week, learn routines and excitedly practice her skills at home. She quickly realized ballet wasn’t her thing and jumped into jazz instead. The quirkiness of the style suited her and at her age, the technique was still being learned by everyone in the class.
As the years advanced, and the girls around her joined the competition team that we couldn’t commit to, she felt a little behind but kept pressing forward, giving her best work every time. Still, as her mama, I knew. I knew she’d likely not dance forever. Call it a mother’s intuition, call it experience from a former gangly-legged girl who could never do the splits or master tumbling, I just knew.
So, when she came to me and said, “I think I should quit,” I wasn’t surprised. I told her to sleep on it, to get a bit removed from the difficult class, and we’d revisit it in the morning.
On our way to school the next morning, she said, “Can we talk about dance now? I think it’s time for me to stop taking it.”
“I hear you, love,” I began. “Tell me though, are you asking to quit because you feel like you’re not good enough or because you want to focus on other things? Because there’s a big difference.”
She paused for a moment before responding, “I think a little bit of both. I do love it, but I know I’m not going to be a dancer forever. And I do like other things, like music and art.”
“And that is okay. Moving on to something new is not failing. Finding out what you love and pursuing it is not the same as quitting.”
“But it feels like quitting. It feels like failure.”
“Oh sister, I know that feeling so well. But there is nothing wrong in making room for the things that you really love. There is nothing wrong with choosing something new for the next season.”
She nodded in agreement. And my soul simultaneously echoed, “Pay attention.”
Because goodness, am I living in that place right now; loving the life that we’ve built, but knowing there are other things that have been stirred in me to pursue. Wondering how to leave behind what I’ve done for so long without looking like a failure. Questioning my commitment and ability to create something new in place of the old. Struggling to step into what’s next when the weight of what has been still lingers.
My girl shares more than my long, inflexible adolescent legs. We both carry the weight of a firstborn, invisibly bound to duty, believing perfection is required in every endeavor. I’m working through that in therapy, in writing, and in parenting, and more often than not, I see my own insecurities reflected back to me through my children. And those tough decisions and big questions my kids are asking remind me to have compassion on that childhood version of myself who felt like she couldn’t change her mind.
And when I find myself giving my daughter permission to choose a different path, I find myself more freed up to do the same.
Things I’m loving right now:
Reading - “All the Light We Cannot See” by Anthony Doerr. In a poetic piece of fiction, Anthony weaves a masterful merging of two storylines, reminding us of our our humanity and sameness, even in the torrent of war. Highly recommend!
Listening - This playlist I made for She is Kindred’s “Living in the Tension” month is still resonating deep in my bones. Maybe it will for you, too.
Making - Space. From our closets to my consciousness, I’m praying for more space to move forward this year. 2022 was a tough one, y’all. I don’t know what 2023 will look like, but I know that I want to be freed up for what may come. I’m purging physical extras from my home and simplifying demands from my heart.
What are you hoping to make room for in this new year?