Dancing My Way Through Divorce

The DM came in just as I was about to put my phone away for the night. The little red notification popped up and I paused Curb Your Enthusiasm’s intro to check the message. The message was from a name I recognized, an Instagram friend from long-ago, someone whose life I have watched unfold in little boxes and videos across my feed for years.

The message read, “I don’t know who else to tell this to, but my marriage is over, what do I do now?”

I paused, put the phone in my lap - I know they had seen the message, so I wanted to respond quickly, as I was well aware how dark and lonely those nighttime hours can be. And then a word popped in my head - well, to be clear, a verb. Dance. I thought. You dance your way through it.

“Dance! You dance. Turn on your favorite song and just focus on the lyrics and dance. This will be a hard time, it will be hellish at times, but I promise you, you will get through this. I am so proud of you,” I wrote back. My heart beat faster as I waited for the “seen” to appear, and I could see that they were typing.

“I love that. Thank you. Going to go blast some angry music right now,” they replied. “That’s perfect, you got this. Always here,” I reminded them, and closed the app, put the phone down. But, my heart was still pounding.

I thought back to those early days of divorce. The days that seemed too dark and scary. The days that seemed too uncertain and confusing. My therapist would remind me to move my body, as trauma is stored in the body, and I had lots to release. My days were busy: children, clients, cooking, cleaning – oh, and figuring out how I was supposed to put the pieces back together and heal. Healing, if you do not know, is exhausting on a soul-crushing level. One weekend I read two books on healing back-to-back and could barely move the next day. Healing, while necessary, is painful, and who wants to feel that?

So, at night, when the children were sound asleep, and the lights dimmed, I would enter the half-empty living room like my own arena. Stepping ever so slightly onto the rug, my own personal stage, facing the empty brown couches where love once sat, like the enthusiastic audience at my show. At first, I was tentative - scared, even. It had been years since I had let my body freely move. I would peer over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching (no one was, obviously), and, with my airpods securely in my ears, I would start a song, quietly at first, and then turn it louder.

I’d let the rhythm wash over me, and often my eyes would simply fill with tears, splashing down my face, but something else would happen too: my arms would begin to sway, my hips would begin to move, my feet would tap in time to the song.

I was terrified to dance. Something I had done naturally my whole life, I often danced instead of walked, and here I was, afraid of my own body, afraid of what might happen if I let myself feel - if I let myself heal.

I have long since forgotten the songs I danced to, so I checked my “dancing in the living room” playlist, and had a little laugh. Justin Timberlake’s Can’t Stop the Feeling was my go-to song, and indeed, I couldn’t stop the feelings - they had to come out, they had to be processed.

James Taylor and Carly Simon’s Mockingbird was on there, and I recall dancing wildly to the song, and dreaming of a time someday I would dance with a partner who loved to dance with me. It was so goofy and fun, I couldn’t help but smile and flail my limbs like the rockstar couple had done on stage.

And, the last song on the playlist was Emmylou Harris’ version of The Boxer, in which I would always stop to sob when she sings, “Now the years are rolling by me/They are rocking evenly/I am older than I once was/And younger than I'll be, that's not unusual/It isn't strange after changes upon changes/We are more or less the same/After changes we are more or less the same.” For so long I had felt so far away from myself, so distant. I knew the journey back to myself was going to be long, but so worth it. The twangy lyrics rolling in my ears reminded me so profoundly that after changes upon changes, we are still us. We are still our own home.

I danced every night for months. The playlist would be updated over time, and I grew stronger, danced with a smile on my face, and sometimes tears in my eyes. In October 2019 I wrote an Instagram post about my nighttime dancing and explained, I use my AirPods and dance up a storm. The first few nights I did this, I almost felt a sense of panic. Like someone was watching me. I was embarrassed to kick my leg or shimmy shimmy shake. And then it dawned on me: there was no one to bear witness to this, and I could do whatever the heck I wanted. I could dance like a wild lady or practice old tap moves or simply stand in the middle of the room and listen to music and weep (try this, it’s amazing.)⁣ There is something incredibly freeing about literally dancing like no one is watching. I’ve slowly started to realize that I am the keeper of my memories and the only one to actually bear witness to my life, and when I have the capacity to be free enough to make mistakes without worrying what a partner may think, it may actually lead to some pretty amazing memories I get to bear witness to.

Dancing is primal. It’s spiritual. It brings you back to you. It helps you learn to trust your body again - and when you trust your body, anything is possible. So, as you go through whatever life change you’re going through - maybe it’s a breakup, maybe it’s a job change, maybe it’s a mid-life panic, maybe it’s stepping into your truth - here’s my first piece of advice: dance. Dance like the silly, goofy, wonderful, gorgeous person you are. It’ll be okay - and if you ever need anything, we’ve got you. We’ll dance with you.

Want to learn more about what I did to heal post-divorce? Check out my interview on the Thoughts from the Couch podcast with Justine Carino.