How Daily Dance Breaks Soothe My Sexual Anxiety
Written by: Rachel Harmon
For five minutes every day, I let myself be free from the world, and it is beautiful.
My mind tends to overthink. As a teenager and young woman, I thought it was nifty to keep all my feelings to myself. Every day, I ran the hamster wheel of self-loathing and told myself that’s what complex, interesting people do.
When I was a girl, I didn’t do ballet like my sister or join the poms squad with my friends, and I don’t remember why. If I had to guess, I’d bet that my tendency to not let myself have fun got in the way. My reflex to assume and prioritize others’ opinions prevented me from experiencing joy.
As a child, I held high expectations for myself and deprived myself of a flourishing social life, all for the sake of achievement and perfectionism. Feelings and intimacy scared me, yet loneliness drove me to suicidal thoughts. My first thoughts of self-hate came when I was in the fourth grade. I remember imagining myself as the grass of my childhood backyard and stomping and kicking the ground to prove I didn’t deserve love.
Photo by: Christopher Ott via Unsplash
I went all through high school and college without going on a date or having been consensually kissed. Despite not wanting to, I deeply connected with Drew Barrymore in Never Been Kissed. I felt ugly and unwanted.
When I first lived on my own in 2016, I was 20 years old and went through the scariest bits of my mental health journey. Imagine a pu pu platter of anxiety attacks and suicide ideation. During this time, I started solo dance parties. Every week, I shut my curtains, powered up my free version of Spotify, complete with the finest advertisements, played my music at a polite volume to not upset my neighbors, and hit the carpeted dancefloor. In those moments accompanied by K-Pop and Motown, I forgot my mind was broken. I forgot part of me hated myself. Despite how silly it may have looked, my dance breaks saved me.
Image by Benjamin Wedemeyer via Unsplash.
Unfortunately, I stopped dancing after a while. School work, various commitments, and high-functioning anxiety became overwhelming. Joy seemed distant. In the midst of summer 2017, I nearly tried to take my own life. I had a plan of action that made me afraid of myself. That night, I experienced my worst anxiety attack to date, chock full of tears and shallow breathing. If it wasn’t for a friend texting me and causing my phone to vibrate, I’m afraid I would have never gotten out of my head or lived to wake up the next morning.
Once my anxiety tamed itself a bit, I created other excuses to not dance again. I moved in with roommates, worked overtime, and did whatever I could to shelter my authentic self. I thought I’d be judged for my form of happiness. Once in a while, I’d let myself go clubbing. In those moments, I’d return to my dancing haven and release every worry. I would feel free again.
On one fateful night in 2021, I had my first date, kiss, and partnered sexual experience at the age of 24 years old. All was relatively smooth until we attempted penetration, and I quickly discovered sexual anxiety. My reality challenged all the movies I grew up watching. I would plead with my body, “We consented to this, so why aren’t you working?” These encounters often consisted of me internally reviewing my grocery list, criticizing my appearance, and assuming my partner’s dissatisfaction. All my mental commotion resulted in sexual pain.
Image from Womanizer via Unsplash.
For years, I went without sex, so I went without sexual anxiety. Once I’d entered the sex-having world, my excessive worry created a collage of break-downs. Telling partners to stop, crying in men’s beds, hiding my face, feeling humiliated. My mind overrode my potential for pleasure.
At the end of 2021, I asked myself what I wanted for my future. Once I got past the basics of good health and abundant money, I remembered my dance breaks and the fact that I was living alone again. I had a whole one-bedroom apartment to myself. Part of me was afraid I would revert to my dark past, but I was different now. There’s nothing like a pandemic to make you go after what you want. You bet your girl was getting groovy again!
Since the start of 2022, I’ve completed a five-minute dance break every day. Sometimes, I bust a move and feel myself. Other days, I can’t do more than a side step. During this routine, I get to put my phone down, jump out of my head, and marvel at my body’s sick sense of rhythm. With every song, I grow more grateful and relish the opportunity to get in tune with the rest of my body.
But here is the true sign of personal development: I now dance with others. With each new day, I loosen my grip on societal expectations. In the bedroom, I’ve grown more patient with my body, used movement to express sexuality, and befriended lube. Also, I’m not just “dancing” with anyone. I’m only sharing my presence and playlists with the right partners, when dancing in the streets and under the sheets.
Photo from: Womanizer Toys via Unsplash.
No more sneaking around. No more believing a DJ, alcohol, or dancefloor are required. No more punishing myself with an internal Footloose dystopia. I am a changed woman who still has bad days. However, I now know I have the management skills and persistence to make my daily dreams come true. Not every aspiration needs to change history. Rather, pockets of joy and pleasure show us that we are worthy of a good time.
How can-can you establish daily dance breaks in your life?
Review your schedule or calendar.
Choose a time that works for you every day. It doesn’t need to be the same time each day.
Set alarms on your phone or another device for the chosen times.
Respect those alarms, respect yourself, and follow through.
Dance (bonus points for getting jiggy with a partner).
Over time, I’ve proven to myself that I am loved, dance breaks and all. Whether attempting a salsa or busting out the trusty jazz square, my worth is unconditional and independent. Dancing gives me a break so that I can come back stronger. Every day, I invest in the best version of myself. With growing confidence, I can tackle more challenges and more choreography. And a five, six, seven, eight!
Rachel Harmon is a graduate of Marquette University and writer based outside Fort Worth, Texas. Passionate about mental health and relationships, she has been published in The Week, Dismantle Magazine, and more. You can connect with her using the links below.