Page 159 of Facing Off
No problem. What should help is my worst-case scenario trick. Like a very mini version of it right now. I’ll catastrophize collapsing on stage, the roof falling in on us, a freak incident of my dress bursting at the seams. People not caring what I have to say. People booing me off the stage. How nothing will move the needle as a whole audience of powerful people, most of whom don’t look like me, dismisses me. They won’t care about my voice, no matter what I do.
See, I should do all that. It’ll strengthen myself mentally because I’ll remember I’ll survive this and go on no matter what.
My breath hitches, then rushes out between my teeth.
The problem is that I don’t want to.
Maybe living in the margins of expecting the very worst out of every situation and bulldozing through it because it’s neverthatbad isn’t good enough anymore.
I flex my fingers on the microphone.
Maybe I want to keep some room in my heart for unimaginably good things to happen. A reason to dare to reach for more. Hope and optimism in the face of those worst things happening to me.
I think about Madame Kozlova. How this company is the same one that pushed me out when I wasn’t perfect enough for them. I also think about how they tried to make me feel, walking into this room today. Invisible.
My mouth flattens.
I raise the microphone higher. “I’ve been falling a lot while dancing because I have the yips. It’s another word for having performance blocks.”
The crowd rumbles with abrupt confusion and sidelong glances at each other.
“Here’s the thing,” I continue. “They happen in every sport out there, no matter how highly trained you are.” I squeeze the microphone even tighter. “Sometimes we just fail.”
I sense movement behind me as if Madame Kozlova wants to stop this, but I’m not interrupted. Adrian must be blocking her.
I continue. “The thing with performance blocks is that there’s no single pill you can take or a single strategy that fixes you. You have to come at them in all these different ways.”
Now that I’m talking, I can’t stop.
“I spoke to Adrian’s performance coach, and my own therapist actually. Do you know what I learned?”
Somewhere, in the very back of the audience, someone yells, “What is it?”
I follow the voice. Then I widen my stance as encouragement swells in my gut. It’s Nina Hart. She’s standing up and nodding at me in this encouraging way.
“What I’ve learned,” I repeat, “is that…support matters. When you have a coach or a mentor, they can be your safe space and help you navigate coping strategies. That kind of support can protect your mental health. It can keep you going. That’s the right reaction. Not judgment or distance. Just someone who stays to be there by your side.”
Finally, I glance back and see Madame Kozlova.
“Unfortunately, I didn’t get that kind of support when I was at my studio.”
She’s rigid with fury. Frozen, because at this point, I’ve already said so much. The cameras are on me. If she grabs the microphone out of my hands, it won’t translate well.
I set my jaw and hold my chin even higher. “This isn’t to say, there’s no donation today. Especially when there are so many wonderful dancers at this company that deserve funding. But they also deserve to be mentored through difficulties. Especially if they look like me, because we don’t always get second chances. My husband and I?—“
I check on Adrian. Then exhale. There’s such a distinct gleam in his eyes. Pride.
Gratitude swells, spreading through me.
“—that’s the kind of company we want to support,” I say. “Because if we build towards something better, maybe the next girl who gets the yips won’t think it’s the end of her career. There can be protocols in place and resources that protect, so what happened to me doesn’t happen to anyone else. No one should be tossed aside for struggling. They should be seen, supported, and given a way forward.”
“Inappropriate behavior.” My dance mistress’ voice isloud enough to echo. “I see your time away has made you worse, Sonya. You don’t understand decorum?—”
“That’s enough.” It’s Adrian. He’s moved towards me, coming to my side, protecting me.
Cameras flash on us.
Madame Kozlova tries blocking us. “She has no idea what she’s talking about!”
