10 ways to cope with self-doubt and yet keep moving

Life lessons that trying something new taught me

Dance was never something I thought I would excel at or feel in my element.

Growing up, I was self-conscious about how I came across to others. Dancing, especially in public, was one of the things I shied away from. I did it when I really had to but cringed at my own moves and tried to escape as soon as I could. At home, in the privacy of my room though it was different, I danced the crazy dancing, the happy dancing, the workout till you’re drenched with sweat dancing and the soul-led dancing that had me follow the music. I dreamed that one day I’d be noticed.

Now I have a little girl of my own and I often see her dancing from her soul, and it feels as though a repressed part of me is now self-expressing. It’s bittersweet.

Bitter because I felt I couldn’t tell anyone how badly I sought out the spotlight where people would notice and appreciate me.

Bitter because I grew up feeling that even remotely seeking out such a dream was shameful.

Bitter because how much of a loss (of life) I experienced.

Sweet that she shows me how human I was/am.

Sweet that she has in me the safe space that allows for that desire and feeling of hers to be honoured as true and valid.

Sweet because of the life force energy I see expressing through her.

Recently, I took the plunge of learning a new dance form. It’s been a year of me doing so. I didn’t imagine I’d be any good, let alone be stepping up to perform on stage as part of a group.

And while this year of learning to dance has been transformative, it’s taught me several lessons for life that I hadn’t remotely expected it would.

1) I am not who I was yesterday

I assumed that I was a particular way, I had notions about my worth and my abilities. Dance has taught me that none of those are absolute truths. I am not the girl with two left feet anymore. I have a left foot and a right foot and by repeatedly showing up and doing the work, both have shown me that they can move together in tandem.

Some realities about ourselves aren’t absolute truths, but just our situation or our beliefs at various points in time.

2) At first all you do is “steps,” and it may not feel like anything

My dance lessons included a warm-up, of course, followed by basic footwork that one repeated class after class to the count of 8. It didn’t feel like I was dancing as I was expending most of my bandwidth staying mindful of when and where to step, tap, turn, pause, glide and so on. There were times we practiced just the hands and later combined them with the foot work, but once again to the count of 8. It didn’t feel much like dance, and I felt somewhat robotic doing it. It was new and I needed to be deliberate about my practice.

With time though, the movements started to register as muscle memory, and slowly but surely, I started to move with grace. With the passage of time (and practice), I started to catch onto the usual music and move without consciously thinking about the count. That to me felt almost magical.

Our early efforts will feel repetitive and clunky. As we persist and gain mastery over the basics, we start creating what then feels and looks like art.

3) I’m not perfect but I get better when I put in the work

There have been lessons that came to me very easily and I saw myself dancing to the rhythm and remembering the sequence right away. There have been several others where the moves seemed harder, and I could not string them together right away. I assure you that did not feel good and even less so when others seemed to get it right away. The monster of shame would rear its head.

There were days I went home very dejected thinking I don’t think I can / should do this anymore. What was the point when I was just not getting it?

Luckily for me, some journaling and self-reflection coupled with conversations with wise fellow humans led me to realize how falling short (in my own eyes) simply meant I needed more time with the new skill.

Armed with my phone, I’d be at it late at night after the kids slept.

Bit by bit, painstakingly, the move would start to register in my head and body.

I’d fall asleep still somewhat unsure and tired, telling myself I’d be at it again the next day.

Dance was not my primary pursuit and so this was something I was fitting into my days alongside all else. Dance had, however, become an important pursuit for me and hence I persevered.

Undertaking new endeavours involves putting oneself in situations where one may not be the best or even close. Putting in the work, both behind the scenes and in front, can help us improve. It doesn’t feel comfortable, but then neither does giving up.

4) It’s the obstacles and constraints that make our pursuits more meaningful

After the initial few weeks, my dance lessons started to feel amazing. I’d gotten a hang of the basics and was acing them. But then came my first constraints — combining the movements with styling! Woah, my brain did not like it one bit as it had three things to juggle, and it so badly wanted me to look good doing so. “Don’t you drop a ball girl, the mirrors (and your classmates) are watching”, it said.

Then came the constraint of timing. I not only had to remember the sequence but had to dance to music that had within it frequent and often challenging changes in tempo.

Finally, the next constraint — space. I needed to move within my defined space while maintaining the formation as we danced in a group. It felt like a lot, and it was. Quitting did occur to me but what also happened through this somewhat painful process was that I chose instead to stay interested and navigate the hard moves. I witnessed myself transform.

In the moment, constraints feel hard, and one might detest them. But when you look back, those are often what made our pursuits more meaningful.

5) Stretching oneself is key

As any dancer will tell you stretching is extremely critical to dancing well. It helps prevent injuries and increases one’s range of motion. Whenever I’ve found myself struggling to keep pace or unable to correctly complete a move, stretching helped me immensely. It hurt in the moment but lowered the strain when I danced. Not to mention the added benefits for my posture and well-being.

We spend a lot of time in motion, contracted and hoping to keep performing optimally. Taking a bit of time instead to stretch and feel into that discomfort could lead to the leap we’re looking for.

6) Vulnerability is hard until it gets easier

Getting up in front of a wall of mirrors and having an audience were things that came as a package with learning dance in a group setting. It didn’t feel like I was simply there to learn, but also to showcase what I was learning at the same time!

Keep in mind, none of this was easy for my ego to digest. It wanted me to excel from the get-go and look self-assured while doing so.

Keep in mind I wasn’t someone who was comfortable dancing to begin with. I found it grueling to be seen, and even more so to be seen “messing up.”

“Why do you need to do this? You’re no good. You’re better off at home, leave the dancing to the more competent ones. You look weird and you have the worst hair,” are only some of the things this voice in my head dared speak.

It felt hard to keep showing up and be seen. But I kept renewing for a few months at a time and telling myself that I would continue showing up till the fee cycle was through. Little by little, the showing up started to feel easier. The ego eased off some and the mirror didn’t seem so ominous anymore. What it reflected to me was an opportunity. An opportunity to take pride in my progress and spot what I could be doing differently.

To see oneself and be seen by another often brings up hard feelings. For some of us this feels harder than for others. Moving through the challenging parts and still showing up is what makes a difference over time. Bit by bit, one starts to get out of one’s own head and into the present moment, and what a gift that journey is.

7) While the inner critic is a freeloader, the inner cheerleader strengthens when called upon

Being conditioned to be hard on myself, I knew all along that I was making it way tougher for myself than it was. My inner critic would show up at the teensiest of mess-ups:

“Oh, look, you messed up and then you grimaced so now everyone knows what you did wrong. All the others look so collected.”

“Can’t you smile more, why are you so uptight? Try to enjoy yourself.”

“Stop hunching those shoulders!”

“You’re really no good at this, are you?”

“What’s the point of learning dance, you’re not going to be a professional, neither are you going to instruct.”

“Oh, look, you’ve stopped practicing; now, be prepared to watch yourself fall behind.”

Arrggh. I hated that voice that felt it was its birthright to comment on my every move (or absence thereof). When I could not take it any more, I started asking it to shush while I was dancing. A few extra minutes spent connecting with myself in the mirror began to shift the way I saw myself. And with this shift, I started to allow myself to engage in what lit me up, like selecting my outfit as opposed to hurriedly putting something on; like listening to songs and words I loved while driving to class, or picking out some flowers for the home. Things shifted and people too started to notice the change in me in class and told me so. As my inner cheerleader grew louder, my inner critic grew quieter.

The critic within us works hard to keep us “safe”. It often shames us into stepping back to avoid getting “hurt.” It can take repeated deliberate interruptions on our part for this pattern to break. And when it does, we can finally find the space to think and respond differently. And while this is an ongoing job; the joy you start experiencing can keep you going.

8) Recognizing and allowing our feelings lessens their grip on us

There’s something about a dance studio that makes you come face to face with yourself. If you’re thinking mirrors, you’re right. However, it’s not the mirrors per se, but what you see in the mirror and what that brings up in you.

You see a bunch of beginners learning some basic moves: you likely feel neutral and keep going.

You see yourself dancing well, kind of close to what your instructor does: you feel pride, delight, and a renewed sense of motivation.

You see other dancers getting the moves and keeping pace, while you’re sort of struggling: some self-judgement, a teensy bit of envy, and a sense of you falling behind likely creeps in.

For the record, I’ve been through all the above.

When I’ve tried to brush over what I’m feeling, it’s all felt very uphill, almost as though I’m up against my own self. What has helped me in the moment however, has been to name my feelings and let them stick around while I continued bringing myself back to the ask of the present moment. In time, I have learnt that it’s entirely up to me to not dissipate my energy and instead consolidate it towards dancing.

On most days now, I consciously choose to see only myself and my instructor (when required) while allowing my body to move to the beat, trusting that it will move as it’s meant to. As a result, I feel much more centered. My energy too is more fully available to me for dancing and continuing for the rest of my day.

Acknowledging and allowing for our feelings (however dismal) in the moment, helps release their hold on us. And it’s in moments like those that we have the space to choose what’s for our higher good.

9) Our feelings aren’t always the best guide

In dance class, some days the dancing came easy, the body moved freely, and I felt so graceful. I felt good. I felt buoyant.

On other days though the steps felt hard, the body was stiff and everything about me felt awkward. I felt bad. I felt weighed down.

If I allowed the way I felt to determine my actions, I would only show up on the first kind of days. It took deliberate conscious action to bring myself into the studio on the days I felt like crap. All I wanted to do was crawl under the covers but here I was standing in class and working through the feelings that kept urging me to leave. I named my feelings and thanked them for wanting to keep me “safe” and suggested they relax for a bit as I got this.

The result was that I almost always felt better after the class than I did before. It’s like my anxiety found a release valve and I found the space to breathe.

When we solely rely on our feelings to lead the way, we only show up on the days we feel good. The less we show up, the less likely we are to continue doing so. When instead we allow a commitment to lead the way, we show up regardless of our feelings. That doesn’t mean we don’t honour our feelings; we just don’t hand them the driver’s seat that’s all.

10) Standing up tall makes a significant difference to how we show up

In dance, just as in life, confidence plays a key role. While there may be some who are intrinsically confident and don’t grapple with much self-doubt, I’m certainly not one of them. So, when doubt came visiting on the dance floor, as it often did, I started to read its tell-tale signs. A lowered gaze, a bent over head, somewhat hunched shoulders and a shallow breath. It’s almost like my body wanted to go into hiding. There’s no way I would show up to watch myself dance wilting like a flower off its bush.

A light shoulder tap from my instructor saying, “stand tall” was all it took to shake me out of my stupor. I wasn’t feeling it, but I still decided to undo all the hunching and the slinking away and expand myself. I faked it, and I faked it some more and I witnessed my felt sense of doubt getting smaller. I felt more capable, and I showed up differently, happier, and freer. I now use this approach each time I sense myself shrinking.

We all feel weighed down from time to time. While feeling our feelings is helpful, there comes a point when we need to consciously shift our felt state. No, we can’t always think our way out of feelings, but we can move our way out of them. Standing taller and breathing bigger are two moves that can shift our feeling state to a more confident, alert and happier one.

Initially, when I danced with the more experienced dancers, I would feel overawed by them. I saw how they had both the technique and the styling while I was still clunky at both. Even as this wasn’t entirely untrue, I began changing my narrative. I would tell myself to simply focus on absorbing the current lesson and trust that my body would catch up in time. Everytime I danced in a group, I made the often painstaking decision to pull back my attention from the other dancers and bring it to my own self. I began working on my own faith in myself.

I ensured I was visible in all class recordings and would then study them in detail (no matter the cringe) to spot the gaps in my dancing. My benchmark was my instructor and I had every reason to look upto her. I repeatedly chose to not get intimidated by the good performers around me because if I did, I would feel inadequate and needlessly disappointed in myself. It was not a contest and I didn’t need to be winning. Having fun and feeling competent became my drivers for doing the work. This is how I went about building self-trust in my dancing abilities. I got kinder to myself when I messed up and allowed the instances where I settled for good enough to add up. It was okay and I was okay.

Experience is helpful to learn from and follow but if the mind gets in the way and starts to diminish oneself in the bargain, it’s detrimental. Use another’s experience as a signpost to aspire for but build your own trust in your ability to get there. Everyone who got there did it taking one step after another and so can you.