Growing up underneath the stage spotlight, it should be easy to perform for an audience. Yet ever since I was little I had an internal little voice telling me to hold back in front of people because everyone was looking at me, that I looked bad, and that I wasn’t good enough to be on that stage.

At my dance studio, we had a week when parents were welcomed to observe the class. Having dread the idea of an audience in such close proximity to me, these observations terrified me. I refused to make eye contact with anyone and clenched my teeth to hold back tears and nervous words. I couldn’t hide behind others or my clenched mouth when it was time to perform. While waiting in my starting place, sweat started dripping down my back and my vision became blurred. As the music began, so did my tears. Overwhelmed by hysterics, I ran into my mom’s arms. She held me in my paralyzed state as we watched the other girls dance.

I haven’t stopped dancing because of my performance anxiety, but I still tend to hold back when performing. When sharing Poms or Orchesis dances I continue to clench my teeth and refuse to make any eye contact. I stare above the mirror so I’m not mentally forced to analyze others’ facial expressions. In Wheatley’s work, she notes that our judgments of others divide us, not our differences (3). That’s what I’m so petrified of, of how I’ll be divided from my peers based on their judgments. I think that when I’m dancing, others are constantly judging me and figuring out how to separate from me. I think of how my performances make others uncomfortable, just as uncomfortable as they make me.

My anxiety, performance or not, affects my daily thoughts and actions. That tiny voice in my head hasn’t gone away as I continue to over complicate situations in my mind, constantly brainstorming responses to something that might be said, then rethinking if my response will get the right reaction.

This devilish voice forces me to rethink what I’ve prepared, sending me into a panic. My mind goes back and forth on what to decide and what to do, but this time there are two voices and I balance the opinions of my angel and devil, making me take longer to come to a conclusion.

When sharing my dances, I have to decide if I’m going to go full out to the audience or not. In these cases, I have little time to decide this, sending my mind into a jumble. I contemplate the reactions I may get by going full out or by not trying my best. The vast majority of the time, my fears overwhelm me and force me to not try my hardest in these performances. I get ready to perform and I see everyone’s precise facial expressions sitting in front of me, like a line of judgments.

But these decisions and anxiety only come into play when sharing dances in the studio, where the audience is sitting extremely close to me. When performing on the football field or on the stage, I know that I’m going full out, it doesn’t even feel like an option because these performances are the “real deal.” On the field, I can’t see people’s specific faces or their reactions, lessening my anxiety.

In reference to Wheatley, I’ve concluded that I’m not willing to be disturbed. I’m so immensely terrified of change that I don’t want to rethink aspects of my life. I understand her idea that if you’re curious about someone else’s interpretations, you must be okay in admitting that you cannot figure things out alone (2). In my case, I’m aware that I have a lot of trouble figuring things out myself, hence my indecisiveness and anxiety. I need the approval of others to be sure that what I’ve figured out is correct and acceptable.

Along with an anxiety diagnosis, I’ve been further dragged down with my extreme indecisiveness. I’ve been dealt a burden of overthinking every situation and worrying about each action.