Dancing with Grief

Using movement to process this past month.

As my health constantly changes, and my vision gets worse, I never quite know what to do with all my grief. Yesterday, I looked at the eye chart in my doctor’s office, and couldn’t see anything from my left eye.

It’s not that the letters were blurry. They weren’t there at all. It was a white, cloudy, disorienting haze and I burst into tears. It’s been really hard adjusting to this reality, and I’m struggling to learn how to process it all. How to mourn this loss of vision that has happened so quickly this year. But recently, something shifted.

I realized I couldn’t force myself to love my grief, or bury it deep down and avoid it. But I could dance with it. Witness it. I could move with all this fear and loneliness and anger at what’s happened to my body, and while it will always be there, after I dance with it, it can be a steady presence, rather than an overpowering one.

During all the moments that I felt the most terrified last month— getting my MRI for my MS, anticipating my next eye surgery days away, and the morning of surgery before getting my second implant this year— I forced myself to move and dance. Not because I wanted to, but I think my body needed me to.

These feelings of sadness don’t go away, but movement is a way to flow through them. To hold them gently and acknowledge them, and maybe that’s enough for now.

Dancing before my eye surgery in February

My health issues brought me to dance. Maybe I never would have found it if I didn’t need the help. Just a few years ago, I was never a big dancer, and definitely never though to look to it for a way to calm my nervous system and help me move through heavy emotions. But now, if I wait too long to dance, I feel it in my body, as if something restless inside me needs to be released.

I’m thankful my struggles with my health ended up putting me on this path, and opened my eyes to such a different way of living. My health is so in flux that I never know what is going to happen next. I often feel as if I’m suspended in the air, watching over my life. Never quite on solid ground. But when I dance, and I can feel my feet on the earth, it starts to feel okay.

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In other dance related news, as some of you may know, I’ve gotten the chance to lead one of my ecstatic dance and writing workshops in Italy next week at a festival called 7 Chakras. It would be my first time playing at an international festival, and I am so excited to bring together everything I love— dance, writing and community— in such a beautiful place. Unfortunately, I am not completely sure if I will be able to go.

The valve implant they put in during my last surgery opens very gradually, and the stitches only loosen and let the implant fully start to function after exactly 5 weeks and 3 days, which happens to be…. exactly one day before the festival begins.

Currently, I am going in to see my surgeon on Monday. If my implant and my eye look good, I am cleared to fly and will leave the next day. If it isn’t open or doesn’t look stable, I won’t be able to go.

It’s chaotic even for me, but and I really do things last minute. But I have just been existing in this state of cautiously optimistic limbo all week, hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. Whatever happens will be for the best, but if you could send some good thoughts my way, I’d be very grateful.

Thank you for reading ❤️

Love,

Julia