by How I unlearned shame, redefined strength, and started dancing again
The First Night
That first night, I didn’t know what to expect. I almost didn’t go. But something in me—restless, tired, curious—nudged me through the door.
I entered a studio filled with women: some chatting like old friends, others shyly hovering near the corners. There were all kinds of bodies, all kinds of moods, but one shared thread: a gentle buzz of anticipation. The music started, and suddenly, we were moving. Not perfectly. Not always in time. But we were together.
We stumbled. We laughed. We lost the beat, found it again, and sweated through it all. By the end of the class, something subtle but profound had shifted: I felt joy in my body. A lightness. A sense of belonging I hadn’t realized I was missing.
What I Used to Think
I used to think women who went to the gym were vain.
I said it casually, like a joke. I rolled my eyes at Instagram workout selfies. I dismissed tight leggings and protein shakes as signs of self-obsession. In school, I wasn’t athletic. I was the bookish girl, the creative one. I told myself I was too deep, too smart to care about muscles or calorie burn.
I had an image in my head of “gym people” — sculpted bodies, smug smiles, running in place on treadmills like hamsters in a wheel. I believed I was rejecting something toxic: the pressure to be thin, the gaze of the patriarchy, the demand to always be pleasing, desirable, small.
What I didn’t realize then was that I wasn’t rejecting the patriarchy. I was rejecting myself.
Shame in Disguise
Looking back, I see that my judgments weren’t about other women at all. They were about me. About the stories I’d been told, and swallowed, about what women should do with their time, their energy, their bodies.
Caring about how you looked was shallow. Wanting to be strong was unfeminine. Spending time on yourself was selfish. I had internalized all of it. And so I stayed on the sidelines—of gym classes, of dance floors, of my own physical life—telling myself I was too “serious” for all that.
But deep down, I wanted in. I wanted to move. I wanted to feel strong. I wanted to dance.
I just didn’t know how to begin. I didn’t know it was allowed.
Reclaiming the Body
Everything started changing when I entered spaces that felt safe. Woman-led. Non-judgmental. Joyful.
There, in that studio, no one cared if I was out of shape or uncoordinated. No one was measuring my waist or correcting my form. We were just moving—stretching, laughing, dancing like no one was watching. Because no one was watching.
For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t working against my body. I was working with it. Not to shrink it, punish it, or control it — but to celebrate it. To reconnect.
I began to understand: strength isn’t about looking a certain way. It’s about feeling at home in your own skin. It’s about the freedom to take up space — physically, emotionally, unapologetically.
Rewriting the Narrative
Now, when I see women in the gym or out on a run, I don’t judge them. I admire them. I know what it takes to show up. I know how hard it is to claim that time for yourself — especially when the world expects you to always put others first.
I no longer see strength as vanity. I see it as rebellion. As self-respect. As joy.
I still don’t live at the gym. I’m not a fitness influencer. But I move my body. I dance again. I stretch and breathe and sweat without shame. And more importantly, I’ve started listening to what my body wants — not just what society wants from it.
A Quiet Revolution
There’s a quiet revolution happening in studios, gyms, living rooms, and dance classes all over the world — women showing up not to be watched, but to feel. To own their bodies, in whatever shape they’re in. To unlearn years of shame and make movement something sacred.
This isn’t about a six-pack. It’s about liberation.
So if you’re someone who’s ever stood on the edge, thinking, “I’m not one of those women,” I want to tell you: maybe you are. Maybe, deep down, you’ve always been. And maybe now’s the time to take the first step — not to change your body, but to finally come home to it.
