Last week, we eased into our second ARC “Flow” as we talked about journaling as a way to connect with our soul. This week, things will get a little bit more intense as we talk about dancing.

Despite having a sister-in-law and a niece who are incredible dancers (and a husband who’s does not shy from owning the floor), I would never have called myself “a dancer.” I’m the person who claps enthusiastically from the sidelines, cheers other people on, and then—maybe—joins once the dance floor is already crowded enough that I can blend in. It’s not that I don’t want to dance. I do. But I get in my own way. I become self-conscious (as if anyone is actually watching me), worried I’ll make a fool of myself, convinced there is a correct way to move and that I somehow missed the memo.

It wasn’t always like this. When I was a kid, I danced around my room without thinking twice. In sixth grade, my best friend and I made up a ridiculous routine (with zero training) to Madonna’s “Where’s the Party” for the school talent show. We practiced after school until we collapsed laughing on the floor. It was a hit. We felt free—because the point wasn’t being good; the point was being alive.

Somewhere along the way, a quiet judge moved in. That judge comments on angles and rhythm and what other people might think. She suggests sitting down unless I’m sure. She hates being seen in the messy middle of trying. And so, even at weddings and parties with people I love, I often hang back. I tell myself I’m pacing, or helping the host, or that I’ll go out on the next song. (Reader, I do not always go out on the next song.)

Recently in a therapy session, my therapist prescribed a “dance party” as homework—thirty seconds, a single song, no rules. “Let your body move and see what happens,” she said. I half-did it… on my Peloton. Technically I moved to music, but I stayed safely within a workout—metrics, tight cues, a container that felt purposeful and “productive.” It’s fine that I started there. But I could feel the threshold I hadn’t crossed: putting on a great 80s track and letting myself look a little foolish in my own kitchen. Letting joy lead instead of performance. Trusting that the body sometimes wants to shake, sway, jump, roll the shoulders, and sigh out the day.

This week, I’m going to practice crossing that threshold. And I’m inviting you to try with me—whether you’re the first one on any dance floor or a master of lingering at the edges like me.

Why Dance (especially when you feel awkward)?

Because moving your body to music is one of the most accessible ways to shift your state—physically, emotionally, and socially. Yes, even if you start the practice feeling anxious and not wanting to do it – it will still make you feel better!

Have you ever seen a child when the song “Happy” by Pharrell comes on? I have, and it’s a sight to behold. Full, raw energy and joy in the process of moving their body. Now, I could cite a bunch of research about why dancing is good for you (and in an earlier version of this blog, I did just that until I was given the feedback it was too academic), but what I’m really interested in is the trauma perspective. Here’s the thing – you can’t dance when you’re being chased by the bear. The ability to dance and be free is something that happens when we’re safe. Whether it’s in the middle of the savannah to drumbeat, or at your cousin Jenny’s wedding. Dance also has a beautiful way of helping release stress from our bodies when the stressful event is over. We’ve talked about walking and stretching in previous blogs, but dancing does something more. It allows us to “Shake it Out” when Taylor tells us to. It gives us freedom above and beyond our typical body movements into something primal and energizing.

“But I’m Not a Dancer.” (Nice to meet you. Me neither.)

The hesitation makes sense. Many of us learned to protect ourselves by appearing composed and competent. Dancing can feel like public permission to be unpolished, and that can poke old tender places: Will I be laughed at? Am I too much? Not enough? If you hear that inner critic gearing up, try naming what’s happening: I’m worried about being seen. Then pivot from evaluation to sensation. Instead of “Does this look good?” ask, “What does my body want to do for one verse?” If a full-body groove feels like too big a leap, begin with a micro-movement: roll one shoulder, sway side-to-side, tap your toes, or let your neck release with the chorus and come back to stillness on the verse.

Remember: in trauma-informed practice, we privilege choice and consent. You’re free to stop at any time. You’re free to try again tomorrow. You’re free to do this eyes-closed in your bedroom, or in the backyard, or on a walk with earbuds where your “dance” is just a little extra bounce in your step. Start where your nervous system says “okay.”

A Tiny Doorway: The 3-Minute Dance Break

• Pick one song you can’t not move to. (More on our song of the week below.)
• Decide your container. One track only. When the song ends, the practice is complete.
• Set the room. Close the door if privacy helps. Turn off bright overheads. Take two long exhales.
• Begin with one body part. Ankles, shoulders, wrists. Let it lead the rest of you.
• Let it be messy. No mirror, no commentary. Smile optional.
• Seal it. When the song ends, put a hand on your heart and notice one word that describes your state. Carry that word into whatever comes next.

If you want company, try it with a partner or a friend. Moving in sync can amplify the lift—and you don’t need to be perfect to be together. Step-touch on the chorus is plenty.

The Science, Without the Spin

I care about evidence and also about fit. The evidence says short movement breaks can improve mood in minutes. Reviews suggest dance can reduce depressive symptoms for many people. The evidence also says effects vary by who you are, what you do, and how often—and some studies show little to no effect in certain contexts. To me, that’s good news: it’s permission to make this practice yours, not a prescription to force yourself into something that doesn’t fit. In my work, small-and-repeatable almost always beats heroic-and-unsustainable.

Why Dancing Helps When the Week is Heavy

This week is going to be hard for me. Maybe you’re in a demanding season too. When stress stacks up, we tend to clamp down—shoulders up, breath shallow, mind rushing. Dance interrupts that constriction with novelty (oh, we’re moving), rhythm (something to ride), and play (permission to be a little silly). It returns you to sensation—feet on the floor, air on your skin, pulse in your wrists—which is how the nervous system remembers, “I’m here; I’m safe enough.” It also hands you a win you can complete in three minutes. Done is soothing.

If grief is present, let the song be a container to feel a little more and then set it down. If anger is present, pick a track that lets you shake it out (big exhales, soft jaw). If numbness is present, go small: sway and sense your weight shifting from foot to foot. No forcing. Just an invitation.

How to Start (especially if you’re shy)

1. Begin at the edges. Start with a walk and a song—let your stride bounce a little on the chorus.
2. Borrow confidence. Dim the lights. Wear socks on hardwood. Pretend you’re teaching a kid the sprinkler and just… do that for a verse.
3. Set the room to “friendly.” Move the coffee table. Turn up the volume just enough to feel the bass.
4. Use a prop. Wooden spoon microphone. Dish towel flag. A prop can trick your brain into play.
5. Pick a persona. “What would Joyful Me do for 20 seconds?” Try it, then return to yourself.
6. Keep it short. One track. Tomorrow, maybe two.
7. Mark the moment. After, drink water and say, “I did that,” out loud.

Tiny Challenges for the Week

• Monday: One-song kitchen dance while dinner simmers.
• Tuesday: Dance with your shadow on the wall for one chorus.
• Wednesday: Invite one family member or friend to step-touch with you. It can be your partner, your child, your dog, or like me, your cat.
• Thursday: Try a “shoulder-only” dance for 30 seconds.
• Friday: Do the first 15 seconds of three different songs. Pick the one that makes you grin and finish it.
• Weekend: Walk and groove: earbuds in, one arm swing a little bigger than usual. Done.

If You Already Love the Dance Floor

If you’re the person who runs out first, you are a gift to the rest of us. You model permission. This week, your practice might be welcoming the shy ones: offer a hand, mirror a small move, keep it simple. Synchrony is contagious; your tiny invitation can change someone’s evening. (And if you’re that shy someone, remember—almost no one is watching you. They’re trying to keep up with their own feet.)

Join in by:

• Trying one 3-minute dance each day (yes, walking-groove counts).
• Sharing how it felt—what worked, what you’d tweak next time.
• Downloading the Calm Calendar for gentle accountability and weekly prompts.

What I’m Loving This Week

Sound: The joyful thwump of the first downbeat through the kitchen speaker—the moment the room turns from ordinary to invitation.

Practice: An 80s pop dance party for one. One track when I need to shake the day off; two tracks when I want to celebrate for no reason at all.

Tool: A tiny Spotify playlist labeled “Dance Party” with three songs that always get me moving. (Bonus: a Bluetooth speaker or just socks on a smooth floor. Low friction, high fun.)

Song: “Dancing Queen” — ABBA. Put it on, turn it up, and let your shoulders lead. If you need a script: sway on the verse, step-touch on the chorus, snap on the “feel the beat.” It’s permission wrapped in glitter.

A Closing Note (from the sidelines)

I keep thinking about sixth grade me, laughing on a gym floor to a Madonna song we loved. No one was grading us. No one was asking us to be better—just braver. If you’ve been waiting for an invitation back to that kind of joy, this is it. You don’t have to dance well. You only have to dance honestly.

Three minutes. One song. Off the sidelines, into your body. I’ll be right there with you—probably in the kitchen, probably a little awkward, definitely smiling.

Next week, we’ll continue the rhythm as we talk about emotional regulation through art and creativity, so stay tuned.

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