Hey, friends. I’m over at Prodigal Mag today writing about dancing and yoga and learning to love my body. This is a topic I’ve kind of avoided in my writing, so publishing this kind of feels like a big deal to me. I’m not one to call myself fat or lazy, but I do struggle to love myself the way I was made. In the next few months, I hope to explore more issues around my body image and getting rid of my fear. If you can relate, I’d love for you to join the conversation and share your story.

The instructor at the front of the room arches her hands high above her head and jumps up and down in time to the music, some Top 40s hit I don’t recognize. The class dances along in pace before me while I’m hoofing it at the back, missing half the moves despite how hard I’m concentrating. I’m a mess of sweat and wheezy breaths and heavy limbs and I’m a full measure offbeat, swinging my arms left when I should be going right.

My feet hit the wooden floor, stumbling into rhythm again just in time for our dance instructor, a tiny Asian woman with the energy of a rabbit and the voice of a drill sergeant, to yell,

“Follow my turn!”

We hop around at 90 degree increments and suddenly I find myself leading the whole class, flailing wildly out of sync as I crane my neck backward to keep my eyes on the instructor.

My plan to be invisible has failed miserably, not having accounted for the dance turns when I chose my spot at the back of the room. (Read the full story here.)