What dancing at weddings taught me about showing up for my life
I was always the girl sitting on the sidelines, refusing to dance.
Didn’t matter if it was a wedding, a prom, or just a school dance — you wouldn’t catch me on the floor. Ever.
The music would start, and so would the noise in my head: Do I look stupid? Are people staring? Are they laughing? Do I look too fat in this dress to be out there having fun?
The anxiety always won. I stayed seated, pretending not to care, watching everyone else live like I couldn’t. Like I wasn’t allowed.
I wanted to be out there. I wanted to feel light and wild and carefree. But I was stuck in my own fear, caged by what-ifs and shame and the belief that someone like me just didn’t belong on the dance floor.
That started to shift at my brother’s wedding in 2012.
I was a bridesmaid — the groom’s sister, a little bit important for once — and for some reason, I felt untouchable that night. I had lost 50 pounds at that point, and maybe that helped. But it wasn’t just that. I felt… bold. Like no one was watching, or if they were, I didn’t care. So I danced.
Fast forward to my own wedding the next year, and something had fully cracked open. I barely left the dance floor. I danced with friends, family, strangers. I danced like someone who hadn’t always been afraid.
And last weekend, at Taylor’s wedding, I realized something surprising:
I’ve become a wedding dancer.
You know the ones — the people who hit the floor with zero rhythm and zero shame. That’s me now.
I still can’t dance. Let’s be clear about that. I look like a flailing cartoon character most of the time.
But I laugh. I scream lyrics. I don’t hold back.
This weekend, I shrieked and threw down my drink when “Tearin’ Up My Heart” came on, exclaiming: “OH! This is my JAM,” while running to the floor.
This weekend, I threw my arm around my friend’s shoulder and serenaded him with “Living on a Prayer”; we pointed at each other and laughed.
I attempted the “Cotton Eye Joe” with absolutely no coordination. I whipped. I nae nae’d. I sang with my friends at the top of my lungs and didn’t care who heard. I danced because I wanted to — not because I looked good, not because I knew the moves — but because I finally knew how it felt to let go.
I’m not entirely sure what changed at my brother’s wedding, but something inside me did. Maybe it was confidence. Maybe it was permission. Maybe it was just time.
All I know is this:
I’ve never once regretted getting up and dancing. I’ve never once regretted letting myself have fun.
But I’ve deeply regretted the years I spent sitting it out.
Someday, I’ll tell Caleb that. I’ll tell him not to waste so much time worrying about what other people might think. I’ll tell him to sing loud, laugh harder, and when his song comes on — whatever that might mean for him — to get up and dance.
Because life doesn’t wait.
And the floor is calling.
No comments