Learning to Two-Step
or, unraveling and losing control
When James and I started dating, I was a terrible dancer.
Let’s back up a little bit here. James and I attended a university with a very strong culture of going two-stepping, either with a date or with a group of friends, at a couple of dance halls around town. Before going to college, I’d taken a couple of ballroom dancing classes with my homeschool group, which had been fun at first, and then we stopped doing swing dancing and did waltz and foxtrot for about eighteen years ( i exaggerate ), and so it got boring. And being quite the introvert, I didn’t go out dancing as a general rule… until I met James.
It’s not that we went all the time—in reality, it was probably just a handful of times in college and a handful of times after graduation—but when you add the slew of weddings we’ve attended almost every year since we graduated, there have been plenty of opportunities for dancing in the time we’ve been together.
And let me tell you what, I sucked at first.
I remember, in the pre-James days, stumbling my way through missed steps, tripping over my own feet, getting distracted by someone else on the floor just when I was getting my rhythm… I told myself that I was just a bad dancer, that there was nothing to be done about it.
I didn’t realize that my struggles with partner dancing were a trust issue in disguise.
Once I met James, he quickly pointed out to me that I wanted to lead. It was a conscious thing—I didn’t even know I was doing it, much to James’ chagrin (and, I’m sure, the chagrin of any other dance partners before James). But somewhere deep down, it was difficult for me to trust that he wouldn’t bump me into another couple, that he would steer me right, that I could take my step cues from his body language without having to constantly count off in my head or watch his feet.
And, sure, you can technically dance like I used to—counting off eight-counts in your head for three minutes and ignoring the people around you. It won’t come naturally, and it probably won’t be a chance for any kind of conversation or blissfully smiling into one another’s eyes. But it’s technically dancing.
We attended a wedding in April, and the Maid of Honor was the bride’s twin sister. In her speech at the reception, she spoke about how her sister (the bride) had always been the strong one, the composed one, the right-on-time one, the don’t-break-down one… whereas she (the MOH) had always been a little more flighty, loosey-goosey, and so on. And she proceeded to share that she’d watched her sister “unravel” since she and her now-husband had started dating. In other words, she’d relaxed into a state of being where she didn’t feel the need to be in control of everything, all the time.
I really saw myself in that speech, which of course was not the point but was a gift nonetheless. And I think my experience of learning to dance with James is a perfect “case study” or lens through which to reflect on this “coming unraveled”.
Dancing was my first taste of absolute, eyes-closed trust. At some point, I started to literally close my eyes, to become aware of the subtle cues he would use to lead me. When I couldn’t see the other people around, it became easier to let go of the fear of bumping into someone—largely a fear of embarrassment, a fear of being blamed, a fear of losing control. I also became more aware of the ways my body would respond to his cues, whether by acquiescing or by tensing up. I learned to stop caring what I looked like, and to start caring about whether or not I was having fun.
And I’ve been able to take some of these same lessons and apply them in our lives more broadly. I’ve more or less closed my (digital) eyes to most social media and avoided parenting “how-to” content online, which has decreased my anxiety dramatically. I’ve leaned into my intuition about body language, learning when to press into a discomfort and when to just let it go. I’m working on letting go of red-faced shame when one of my children throws a tantrum in public, focusing instead on meeting their needs in that moment.
But perhaps most of all—perhaps the reminder I need to hear most urgently in this busy season—is that connection is worth more than control. Connection is worth more than all the good opinions in the world. Dancing, for me, didn’t make sense until I had someone I wanted to dance with. Now, as a mother, I often find myself wanting to grow in skill sets (cooking, sewing, music) that will allow me to better serve my family—but I first need to allow those skills become places of connection with the people I love. The rest will follow in time.
Learning to dance—and to dance with James—was a gradual process, but one that’s borne abundant fruit elsewhere in our lives. Whether it’s an unplanned-but-not-totally-unexpected positive pregnancy test, a fight that’s messy in the moment but worth it on the other side, or a season of intense change for our family, that core foundation of trust has always, always served us well.
What seemingly-random skill has served you well elsewhere in your life, marriage, or family?