I am not a squirrel šæļø
The body as a political space: On dancing and unlearning making myself small
Thatās a weird title, right? Today, we have a slightly different post from my usual content. I hope you enjoy it! šš
š©° On ballet and making myself small
Iāve mentioned in many of my previous blogs that I have been a dancer basically since I could walk. In particular, I was a ballet dancer for around 18 years.
The contradiction of ballet is that you are in enormous pain, contorting your body into unnatural positions ā and yet you cannot show discomfort.
I always tried to embody the posture of a swan (the quintessential ballet character) ā long neck, straight back, chest out, and most importantly, tummy tucked in. I internalized these positions so much that now, at age 27, I am still constantly walking around with my belly tucked in.
A snippet of my performance in Swan Lake (2013), arguably one of the most difficult ballets out there. I was 15. Let me know in the comments if you can spot me! š
As women, we have been socialized to be small, not to occupy space. To move out of the way when someone is coming. To not make noise or have too many needs. To avoid being an inconvenience.
I have always felt that Iām always scurrying around, hurrying to get out of someoneās wayādarting around as if I were a squirrel.
For years, I have noticed that I frequently move out of the way to let people pass when walking. I respect the āslow on the right, fast on the leftā mentality and often circulate on the right if I am walking slowly. When I walk in the park, I make sure to stick to the right to let runners and bikers go ahead of me on the left. However, I constantly notice that many people, in fact, do not do this ā they circulate wherever they want, even on the left! The audacity.
I wonder, to what extent am I using my size (being small) as an excuse for the socialization I was brought up with? With the gender roles I was raised to embody?
I think this might also have to do with the fact that I have been drilled the mindset of āyou are small and delicate ā easily breakable ā and therefore need to avoid getting hurt by getting out of peopleās way.ā
So I learned to move through the world like a small thing ā careful, quiet, nimble, good at slipping out of the way.
ā½ My body has always been shaped in relation to the space I was allowed to take
When I was around ten, I briefly joined the soccer team at school. I donāt remember being particularly good or bad ā just that I liked kicking the ball.
One afternoon, my mom said, āYou have to protect your legs,ā meaning my future as a ballerina. She even joked that I should insure my legs the way Jennifer Lopez insured her buttocks. It made sense to me then. If my legs were meant for something important later, I shouldnāt risk them now. So I quit. Not out of sadness or anger ā just acceptance. As if the decision had already been made long before I arrived at it.
āAh, right. This body is something to guard, not something to use,ā I thought. That was the end of my short-lived soccer era.
But I had lost something larger than soccer. I lost the chance to play rough with other girls ā to get dirty, to fall, to scrape, to learn that my body could collide and still be mine.
And the field itself had never really been ours anyway. My friends and I sat against the walls during recess, careful not to get hit, because the field was taken before we even entered it. The boys played in the center ā always. They charged, yelled, collided, took up space without asking. No one told us we couldnāt go there. They didnāt have to.
So when my mom told me to protect my legs, it didnāt surprise me. The world had already been teaching me how to be small.
š„¾ Stepping and learning to take up space
It was when I arrived in the US that I first encountered stepping. I was inevitably enthralled by its history, its big, straight, loud movements. I loved the way the performers took up space and yelled their lungs out in call-and-response.
Stepping came from an entirely different lineage than ballet ā one that valued volume, force, and communal power. The body was not an ornament, but the instrument itself.
In step, every movement is meant to land ā sharp, loud, undeniable.
My body couldnāt do it at first.
I kept trying to make myself smaller without realizing it. My arms pulled in. My elbows tucked. My voice came out thin. I knew the counts. I understood the rhythm. But something in me hesitated at the moment of impact, like I was waiting for permission that never came.
Other people took up space naturally. I felt a tinge of jealousy when I heard their feet hit the floor like they had a right to be heard. Meanwhile, I kept trying to step politely.
It embarrassed me. I was old enough to know better. Old enough to understand what was happening. But the lesson from the playground and the studio and the sidewalks was still inside me: Donāt be too loud. Donāt be too big. Donāt hit too hard. Donāt invite consequences.
Stepping didnāt liberate me. It exposed me.
It showed me the exact point where my body still said no, even when my mind was trying to say yes.
Nabila during a step performance, August 2017. (Shoutout to Xclusive Step Team at the University of Rochester!)
During step practice, the drills and repeated exercises reminded me of ballet, but the political and social content was diametrically opposite. Ballet was born in courts ā a dance designed to be watched, controlled, perfected. No wonder it taught me to contain myself. It is also classist and historically racist, but that is a topic for another blog.
Stepping helped me shift my mindset that I had to stick to the status quo and that I didnāt have to embrace a single identity. Ballet dancer Nabila and stepper Nabila could coexist!
āļø Small but mighty rebellions
Since moving to Spain, I have been unlearning all of this programming ā the need to make myself small. I am practicing taking up space on purpose. Now, Iām making a conscious effort to:
Avoid walking out of someoneās way and observing whether they get out of mine
Spread my legs on the metro as men do
Turn on the lights when I need them
Release my belly to its natural position
These things might seem small to you, but when I first started doing them, I was terrified. Of getting hurt. Of being yelled at. Of being wasteful. (Thankfully, none of these have happened, yet!)
For example, when Iām on the metro and someone (usually a man) is manspreading, instead of closing my legs, I will spread them, occupying the entire space of my seat. At first, I tense up, feeling my belly tuck in. I avoid eye contact. I feel nervous that the person will yell at me. To my surprise, the man usually adjusts his position.
When I stand my ground now in the sidewalk, I feel my body bracing. Iām preparing for collision. My shoulders lock. My fists clench. My breath pauses. It only lasts a second, but itās there: the old training, still alive, still trying to keep me safe by making me small.
However, the more I do it, the more it has allowed me to gain confidence in myself and the fact that I, too, am entitled to physical space ā that just because I am small does not mean I am less deserving of space than others.
This process is certainly not linear, but now that I am aware of it, I will continue to apply it in my daily life.
May this serve as a reminder to you, as it is for me:
āPUBLIC SPACE belongs to me just as much as it does to anyone else!ā
Tomorrow, when someone brushes past you on the sidewalk, donāt move first. Just notice what happens. And come back here and tell me about it!
šÆ Resource Honeypot: Tools, tips, and tricks
Todayās resource: My current favorite podcast: Return to Bandung.
There, we can find content on anti-imperialism, colonialism, global solidarity, and so much more. I promise ANY episode will be worth it. Thank me later!
Good News Corner š»š»š»
š§ Thriving Antarctic ecosystems found in recently detached iceberg in Chile
š¦ Worldās First Rewilded Sharks Are Thriving
š½ Zohran Mamdani elected first Muslim mayor of NYC
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.. I'm small, for a man, and learned early that I can have presence, I can make myself take up space as much as anyone.
Also, Return to Bandung is so good!