I don't believe in reincarnation, but if I did, in another life, I think I would have been a dancer.

I was born with a rare genetic disorder, called CMT, which inhibits my ability to walk right. It's inherited. My father has it, my grandma has it, my great-grandfather had it, I know a few of my cousins do as well. I don't have it as bad as some of my other family members do. Some of them can only walk with braces on their feet. Thankfully, my case isn't that severe. That doesn't mean it doesn't have its downfalls.

It's progressive, it's gotten worse and will continue to get worse as I get older. The disease attacks the nerves, and it makes the muscles in my legs really weak. They're so tight that I sometimes can't push my heel to the floor, so I walk on my tiptoes instead. That earned me the nickname "ballerina" as a little kid.

I'm far, far from graceful.

I tried ballet before I knew what I had. I was terrible. Uncoordinated, clumsy, I clomped around like a puppy tripping over its own ears. We have footage of my first dance recital, of me falling flat on my face in the middle of the stage at the end of the performance. So, I quit after a few years. I never took another dance lesson.

My friends all joined the danceline team once we got to elementary. They begged me to join, so I could hang out with them after school. I always declined, though I wanted to, I just couldn't forget how frustrating ballet class was.

Through elementary and junior high, I started to realize things. My dad had always told me there was something wrong with my feet, but I'd never let it bug me. But suddenly, it kind of sucked that I was always last picked for the sports teams. That I could never catch up to my friends any time they moved faster than a walking pace. That sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night to my legs just aching so much that I couldn't sleep, just to find that it hurt to walk in the morning. How much I'd trip and fall and hurt myself, and how much people would laugh at me for it. 

There were sports I was interested in playing. I had fun with softball. All my friends were on the track team. I wanted to try tennis. I was always told no. They wouldn't let me on the team, with what I have. And if I got hurt, if I broke a bone, I would probably never heal. It was too big of a risk. 

But as I've gotten older, I've realized that I've had a passion for dance.

I guess I hated the structure of ballet, all the rules and specific moves that you had to master, and how embarrassed I felt when I realized I couldn't do it. 

Dancing by myself is how it started off. Sitting in my room, a CD from God knows where playing on my little radio, and I just got up and shook around for a little bit, just because. And it felt really good.

I started to love dancing, especially to a song that fit my emotions at the time. I never dance in front of people, because I look absolutely ridiculous, but it helps me to express my feelings and not keep them so bottled up. And it's fun. It's so much fun.

Dance has slowly become one of the biggest parts of my life. 

6th grade, I attended the Louisiana Teenage Librarians Association conference for the first time, and went to a social dance that night. I didn't know what I was expecting. I thought dances were for popular kids. But this was a dance full of book nerds, and suddenly, I knew exactly where I belonged. 

7th grade, I went for a second time. Danced my heart out, because these people didn't care how great you looked. But apparently, they did, because I won second place in the dance contest. My friends were just as confused and amazed as I was. I still have the ribbon.

Each dance I went to there at that conference holds special memories. I won't get into them here though.

Freshman year, I tried out for the manager of the danceline team that my friends had been asking me to join for so long. I figured if I couldn't dance, I could still get involved somehow. These girls on this team I have grown so close to that I don't know what I'd do without them now. I've also watched their moves and taught myself how to dance. Not as good as them, but enough to feel satisfied with myself. To know that I can do it. 

I met Him at a dance. That was the one kind of dance I'd never done before: a slow dance. And he approached me out of nowhere. I wanted to run, so I just came up with an excuse. 

"Uh, I don't know how to dance."

He gave me an innocent smile with a glint in his eyes and replied, "Well, now's a better time than any to learn!"

And I was smitten. A terrible dancer, but smitten all the same.

We talked about that dance for a whole year, like it was a fairytale. And it was. It was a fairytale how we'd met. I can still remember the sparkle in his eyes. It seems so far away now, I don't know what to do.

I invited him to my homecoming dance that fall. He couldn't make it. I cried for hours. I hated that dance. But I saved the flowers.

He asked me out a week later. 

He'd text me sometimes, upset that I'd missed his calls. He'd ask me what I was doing. I told him I was dancing outside in a thunderstorm. He yelled at me, saying that was dangerous. I laughed and then wrote a poem about it. I guess he didn't want anything to happen to me.

We went to a Mardi Gras dance in February. Mardi Gras is a Cajun tradition, the day before the Catholic Ash Wednesday, where everyone splurges on everything and all the adults get drunk, dress up in weird costumes and beg people for change, and then chase chickens in random strangers' yards. Welcome to south Louisiana. Anyways.

That night, they made a huge gumbo and had an old fashioned Cajun band playing under a pavilion. Neither I nor he knew how to Cajun dance, despite growing up in the heart of Cajun country, so his dad and his friend took us both as partners, and showed us how to do it.

I remember glancing over his dad's shoulder and catching his eye from across the courtyard. He was just as clumsy as I was. We both laughed at each other, and even more so when they finally threw us together, and we were an absolute wreck. But I never remember laughing so hard in my life, and I think I almost kissed him that night. 

He asked me to prom in March, and we went in May, and I can't remember a night in my life so miserable and magical at the same time. 

We went to a lot of dances together, I guess. Suddenly social dances weren't just for popular kids. Or maybe I had become a popular kid. Who knows.

A year later, we were back at the same dance we'd met at. He gave me so much hell that night I had a meltdown in the dorm room and almost pleaded my mom to take me home.

We went to one across the entire state once, with his friend who happened to be a pageant queen, who also happened to score us tickets to the pageant's formal dance. That day, I remember being so broken inside for how he'd been treating me at the last dance, but I faked a smile and pretended like I was fine.

The Back to School Dance was the climax, I never remember being so angry with him since we'd started dating.

He finally came to my homecoming barely two weeks later, and he stayed over at my house (I slept at my grandparents'), but I felt like he was finally becoming a part of my family. He met all my friends, sat in my church with me, met my entire town.

But we only danced once that night, and I could barely look him in the eye. I don't remember what song was playing. It might have been the one we were dancing to when we first met.

Exactly one week later, we broke up.

I sent him the flower from the homecoming he missed all that time ago.

I don't think I'll ever be able to go to a dance and feel okay ever again.

But I still dance. I dance to myself. I dance out of sadness, dance out of rage, dance out of hopelessness, dance out of fear, locked up in my room where no one can see me. It brings me joy, relief, acceptance.

He never made fun of my feet, unlike most people. He didn't judge me when I danced.

And even though he's gone now, I dance for him, too. Not to please him, but to tell myself that he didn't take everything away from me. He can take all he wants, but he'll never take away my passion. 

Just like some disease that I have that will try to hinder me, but can't stop me from doing what I love. I can find my own way, that may not look pretty, but I won't get hurt and I love doing it. 

All of my friends on the dance team dedicate their time trying to please everyone else who sees their performances. No one but my best friend on the team even knows that I dance.

Just like all the other art forms I try, I don't dance to please others.

I do it to appease myself.