On August 20th, 2022, something subtle yet powerful shifted in my life. I stepped into a room filled with rhythm, laughter, and movement. A world I didn’t know I needed, but one that welcomed me with open arms. That evening marked my very first interaction with the Coast Afro-Latin dance community. I didn’t know it then, but the experience left an imprint on my heart and sparked a journey that still unfolds to this day.
At the time, I was temporarily living at the coast. I hadn’t planned on staying for long. I just needed a change of environment. Something to give me space to breathe. Something to help me stay sane during a time when I was navigating internal noise and emotional stillness. I wasn’t searching for anything specific. Just a way to unwind, to feel human, to reconnect with myself on those slow, heavy days.
I remember walking into that dance venue feeling so small. I was a woman who had always battled social anxiety, who often stayed in the shadows rather than stepping into the light. My heart raced, and not in the romantic way people describe. It was the kind of nervous energy that makes your palms sweat and your throat tighten. I didn’t know anyone. I wasn’t sure if I belonged. Nonetheless, there I was. Silently determined to do one thing: DANCE.
You see, dance has always been in me. From school performances to stolen moments in empty classrooms, I have always moved. But it was never in front of a crowd. Never in a room full of confident dancers whose bodies spoke a language I was still learning. I’d watch social dancers online, moving with such ease and grace, and I’d admire from afar, telling myself I wasn’t “good enough” yet. I’d convince myself that the dance floor was for the pros, not for someone like me. But something about that night was different.
The music started, and the rhythm, Afro beats laced with Latin sensuality, wrapped around me like a warm hug. It wasn’t just the sound. It was the vibe. The laughter between songs. The claps. The way strangers cheered each other on like family. The joy was infectious, and for the first time in a long time, I felt safe. Not because I knew everyone, but because the energy in the room told me, “You don’t have to be perfect to belong here.”
I stood on the sidelines for a while, watching, soaking it all in. I was still too shy to move, too afraid to make the first step. Literally and figuratively. But then someone came up to me, smiled warmly, and invited me to dance. I hesitated, of course. I wanted to shrink back into my corner, but their kindness was persistent. Gentle, not pushy. Encouraging, not overbearing. So I danced.
It was clumsy. My timing was off. I forgot basic steps. But that didn’t matter. He didn’t judge. He just danced with me, reminding me to have fun. That person may never know the impact they had on me that night. If by chance you’re reading this, ubarikiwe sana. Your simple gesture helped someone conquer a mountain inside her soul.
That night was my first experience dancing socially in a large crowd. And from that day, something in me shifted. It wasn’t about mastering the dance styles or becoming the best. It was about discovering that I could show up scared, unsure, and still be received with love.
Looking back now, I realize that dance became a mirror for my healing. It helped me confront parts of myself that I usually hid. It gave me a space where I didn’t have to talk to be understood. Where movement spoke louder than words. Where eye contact during a spin meant, “I see you,” and every beat was an invitation to feel alive.
Since then, I’ve continued dancing. I’ve grown. I’ve practiced. And more importantly, I’ve come to believe in my own steps. What once felt like an intimidating community now feels like home. I’ve learned that dance is not about perfection, it’s about connection. With yourself. With others. With joy.
To anyone reading this who’s battling their own fears, especially in social settings, let me tell you this: You are allowed to start small. You’re allowed to show up trembling, unsure, awkward. And still take up space. Still shine. Still sway to the rhythm of your own story. Because sometimes, the most powerful things we do in life are the ones that scare us first.
And for me, it all started on a warm coastal evening, with music in the air, kindness on the dance floor, and a scared girl who decided to dance anyway.
