To The Woman Who Told Me To “Stop Dancing Like That”

I wasn’t even 13.

I was going to my first real Bat Mitzvah party. It was my friend Lucy’s, from camp. I was on my way with my twin sister, another friend and her mom who was dropping us off. Years later and I can still feel the weird twinge of excitement mixed with anxiety. More than anything, however, I remember being excited to dance.

I was a late bloomer so even though mostly everyone else at the party was in the throes of puberty, I was still years away from her fateful grasp. I felt pretty, but I still felt like myself- lanky, awkward, extremely and acutely aware of how young I looked. I was not a sexual being at this point. I was just a 12-year-old girl trying not to publically humiliate herself.

Even though this was before my love for fashion truly manifested, I still remember what I wore- a black halter dress with some tulle detailing, a snowflake pin and a little bit of silver glitter accents. I think I even wore some makeup, something I wasn’t allowed to do unless it was a special occasion. I looked nice, but I also looked my age- I didn’t have any boobs, the dress was modest and its hem hit right above my knees.

Eventually we got to the venue and after a while, the party began. I remember thinking FINALLY-I can dance. This was in the era of Fergalicious and The Black Eyed Peas and I remember shaking my whole body to the beat. My favorite move was leaning over, putting my hands on my knees and crumping vigorously. I’m sure it wasn’t cute. I’m sure it probably seemed a little sexy, heck I probably wanted to be a little bit sexy, but I’m also positive it wasn’t working.

The thing was, I was having fun. I was dancing- and I love to dance. I grew up dancing and it’s something that’s always connected me to a higher power. I wasn’t grinding on anyone, I wasn’t being abrasive. I was just shaking my pre-pubescent body to the beat. Let me ephasize- I was having fun.

But for some reason, some random woman who I’ve never met, and who I still don’t know, decided to come up to me and tell me to stop dancing. She didn’t subtly come over and start dancing with me, innocently suggesting that maybe I try a more novice move, like the microwave (another favorite.) No. She just simply came over, embarrassed me and told me to “Stop dancing like that.”

I don’t even know what happened afterwards, I don’t even remember who noticed. I don’t think I remember even being embarrassed- I was just confused. Who was she? Why did she tell ME to stop dancing? Was I being too sexy? Did I just look stupid? Was it because I was in eye sight and all the horny 13-year-olds grinding were out of her line of vision?

Let me stress- I was not a sexual human being at this point. For all intent and purpose I was a little girl, and that’s something I knew and felt. Who was this woman that felt like she could shame me and sexualize me? I didn’t even realize I had to think of my body as something to hide or be ashamed of. A wave of self consciousness hit me like a brick wall.

I remember running to the bathroom, recreating my dance moves in the mirror, wondering- was it really that bad? It couldn’t have been, could it?

It’s been a decade and I still think about that woman. Who was she? What did I trigger in her? I still love to dance, and although I’ve ditched most of my dance moves from those days, I still think of them. I’ve managed to grow some pretty thick skin over the years, and thankfully I didn’t let this woman’s ignorance scar me. But I still think about her.

More than anything I wonder, which came first? Me sexualizing myself, or this random woman forcing me to think of myself from that angle? The world may never know….