Dance, Joy, and Coming Back to Myself
I didn’t grow up as a competitive dancer, but I’ve always loved to dance.
Some of my happiest memories are on dance floors — including the night I fell in love with my partner, Jake, on a wedding dance floor. There’s something about music and movement that has always made me feel more like myself.
Four years ago, after my dad passed away, I made a quiet decision to bring more joy into my life.
Not as a goal.
Not as a reinvention.
Not because I needed a new career or achievement.
I started dancing simply for the sake of doing something I loved — something that didn’t need to lead anywhere, prove anything, or be productive.
Just joy.
Just movement.
Just music and presence.
What I didn’t expect was how meaningful that choice would become. Dance gave me a place to express emotion, release tension, and reconnect with parts of myself that had been quiet for a long time.
Why I Love Dance
Dance asks you to be here.
You can’t worry about tomorrow while you’re counting beats.
You can’t replay conversations while you’re learning a turn.
You can’t stay frozen when the music invites you to move.
Dance builds confidence.
It softens tension.
It teaches posture, breath, rhythm, and awareness.
And maybe most importantly — it brings joy without pressure.
Not performative joy.
Not forced positivity.
Real, embodied joy.
Swing Music, Memories, and My Dad
My favorite style of dance is swing.
Partly because I love the music — the energy, the playfulness, the lift it brings to a room. But also because it reminds me of my dad, who loved big band music and used to play it often.
Hearing those songs now feels like a thread connecting past and present, grief and joy, memory and movement.
Dancing swing sometimes feels like dancing with those memories — a way to carry him forward while still allowing life to feel light.
Dancing With Mom
Not long after I started dancing, I invited my mom to a social dance event.
She said yes.
Before long, she was dancing too.
Recently, she was diagnosed with cancer — news that shifted everything overnight. And yet, dance has remained one of the bright threads running through this season of our lives.
We dance together whenever we can, with me as the lead — something that still makes us both smile. We’ve even traveled to compete, turning what could have been a heavy chapter into one that still holds excitement, connection, and moments of pure joy.
Dance gives us something to look forward to. Something that isn’t about appointments or uncertainty. Something that reminds us we are still here, still moving, still living.
It’s one of the ways we take care of our nervous systems — together.
How Dance Connects to Sleep
Over time, I began to notice something surprising.
The more I danced, the calmer my body felt at night.
Not because I was exhausting myself — but because I was regulating my nervous system in a way that felt safe, expressive, and grounding.
Movement can be activating…
or it can be settling.
The right kind of movement — gentle, rhythmic, intentional — tells your body:
You’re safe.
You can soften.
You can rest.
This is especially powerful for midlife women, whose nervous systems are often carrying years (or decades) of stress, responsibility, and disrupted sleep.
Sleep doesn’t start at bedtime.
It starts with how supported your body feels during the day.
Why This Matters for the Women I Help
Many of the women I work with are tired — but wired.
Exhausted — but unable to settle.
Longing for rest, but stuck in a body that feels tense and alert.
Gentle movement can become a bridge.
Not intense workouts.
Not rigid routines.
Just kind, steady movement that reconnects you to yourself.
Dance taught me that your body isn’t broken.
It may just be overwhelmed… or disconnected… or in need of joy.
And sometimes, the path back to sleep begins with learning how to feel at home in your body again.
My Dance Today
Today, I continue training in Latin and Ballroom dance, teaching, and choreographing line dances that bring people together in playful, energizing ways.
Dance is my joy practice.
My grounding.
My connection to my family.
My reminder that life can hold grief and lightness at the same time.
And it’s now part of the lens through which I support women in finding steadier nights.
Because rest isn’t just the absence of movement.
Sometimes, it’s the result of the right kind of movement.