The Little Girl in Green

This is something I wrote a long time ago but it is still dear and true to me.

When I was a little girl, I took ballet classes. I don’t really remember it. A while ago, I saw a video of me that my grandparents took in one of these classes. Every other girl is dressed in baby pink. I am of course dressed, entirely, in neon green. Every other girl is wearing their ballet shoes, I am barefoot. Every other girl has their hair tied together in a nice neat bun. My hair, or mane, is untied and untamed. And I am having the time of my life. I am not following the routine at all. I am not even dancing to the beat. I am not in ballet classes for the aesthetic. I was likely not in ballet classes of my own accord at all, but I was not in ballet to look beautiful. No, I was there because there was music and an enormous mirror where I could watch myself dance. I had no regard for my surroundings. The world was mine and mine alone. I often wonder what happened to that little girl. When did she discover shame? I can’t recall. Every day when I have to muster up insane amounts of courage to walk into any given room, I think of that little girl, and how she is me, and how that could be. I miss her dearly and I spend every day of my life trying to find my way back to her.