How do you express yourself?

The quest started with finding — remembering — the self I want to express

On Day 1 of the first Pussy Empowered Dance retreat, a tropical storm kept us from heading to the beach for “class” as planned. We 10 women crowded under a shade hut next to the pool at our Airbnb, rain blowing in sideways.

Alyssa Aparicio Exalted Erotic

, our guide and directress, asked us to reflect on our current relationship with expression — among the themes for the week.

I flashed back about two years ago, to a hostel kitchen in San Juan.

While cooking up something that I remember involved beet greens, I struck up a conversation with a man perched on a nearby barstool. Like me, Ogugua, producer and edutainment director, was in town for the Afrobeats festival starting that night and I ended up giving him a ride across town to meet up with his friends. In the car we talked about the artists he’d worked with and those he hoped to someday.

Ogugua (left) met with Wizkid a few nights later.

Somewhere in the midst of smothering Friday traffic, he suddenly turned and asked me: “How do you express yourself?”

Long pause.

He clarified. “Like, have you found that thing where you can be you, share who you are?”

I came up blank. I knew journalism wasn’t it. In that role, I was more of a messenger — I wasn’t expressing my own ideas with my own voice.

 “… dance?” I said, hesitantly. That felt like the closest answer. Throughout my life, I’d relied on dance to help me feel — and embody, express, release — my feelings.  

When my teenage-self bubbled over with emotions I didn’t understand, I’d crank up M.I.A’s Kala on my dad’s old stereo and get it all out (Bamboo Banga, anyone?!).

To decompress from stressful days working with my parents on the farm, I’d make the barn loft my stage and let my hips release everything with Daddy Yankee and Shakira.

As a fresh and lonely transplant in Philly, I took refuge in the circle of light-up roller skates, breakdancing kids and couples capoeira-ing — a beautiful community my favorite DJ in the city helped cultivate.

After receiving an acceptance call for a climate reporting fellowship a couple years ago, I gave myself whiplash celebrating with Bad Bunny’s “Caro” (yo sé cuánto valgo, yo sé que soy caro).  

When I dance, I don’t even have to know what I’m expressing; it’s this magic where the music creates a channel and the movement lets something flow out of me.

Driving home alone — and so many times in the years since — Ogugua’s question surfaced in my mind, along with a growing feeling of longing.

How do you express yourself?

He had prodded this internal yearning I didn’t know I had and it became clear to me that e v e r y t h i n g  depended on my figuring out the answer to that question.

I started desperately searching for my medium. Poetry? Painting? Maybe I should pick up watercolor again… or dedicate myself to a specific type of dance?

But nothing felt quite right and I felt stuck.

There’s a teaching I especially like in the Bhagavad Gita, a 2,000-year-old Hindu epic poem about finding the path to your soul’s purpose (which I have not read, but thanks to Stephen Cope, I know a smidgen about). In the story, prince Arjuna is having a hard time making decisions. Krishna, an incarnation of the God Vishnu, tells him, ‘Arjuna, you do not know how to act because you do not know who you are.’

Whoa.

I slowly realized that this quest wasn’t about finding the thing that would allow me to express myself, it was about finding — remembering — the self I wanted to express.

Where was she?

She was stuck in the muck of bullshit beliefs absorbed from her culture since birth; scared from traumas she’d endured without processing (plus the unhealed wounds of her parents, grandparents, etc); distracted by her ego that wanted to do something Important and liked the positive reinforcement that came with following the rules; subdued by centuries of not having the same rights as the other half of the population. (Reminder that in 2023, just thirteen of the United Nation’s 193 member states were led by women. Also, only fourteen countries have had more than one woman head of government.

If you need to pause and let some rage out with Beyonce, by all means.)

To find myself, I’d have to start dismantling everything that had hindered her expression.

In the poolside circle, I shared how writing these pieces feels like finally starting to do it — finally expressing more fully who I am as I continue to dismantle. And how dance has helped lead the way here. It’s where I first felt in touch with my own expression. I shared how I want to deepen that expression, make it even more true to me, and let that feed back into my writing work.

At the end of the week, we would shoot a music video to Alyssa’s latest song (stay tuned!). With the camera watching, I wanted to try to stay grounded in myself, perform for me more than anyone else.

Every day during our classes on the beach, we practiced that. Alyssa led us in warm-ups that brought us deeply in touch with ourselves. Gathered in a circle, we dropped in, feeling the sand beneath us, the sun on our skin, tuning in to the waves and bird calls. We’d then move to self-massage, Alyssa urging us to let ourselves be without thinking so damn much, to tune into our bodies.

Feel how it feels to touch your skin from the perspective of your fingertips…

feel how it feels to be touched by your fingers from the perspective of your skin.

(Highly recommend trying this.)

After a few more guided movements, we’d dance on our own, practice feeling the music and being with ourselves. And then came the part where we had to be brave. One at a time, we stepped into the middle of the circle and danced with all eyes on us.

“When we go to be seen, that’s when shit can really come up,” Alyssa said. Those fears and insecurities about being judged, looking stupid, ugly.

Facing that shit in a safe space, though, can cause some serious growth to happen.

At the beginning of the week, I danced in the circle mostly with my eyes closed. Though I knew people were watching me, actually seeing their eyes felt too vulnerable.

But. These eyes were kind, empathetic, supportive. We clapped and shouted encouragement, showered yessss and mmmhmms of resonance on each dancer. Sometimes we cried, we hid our faces, we broke down. We were also brave, learned to relax, feel safe. We overcame, we felt free.

In the circle, we watched each soul manifest through movement, each so distinctly dancing to the same song. We told each dancer what we saw in their expression.

Snake-like, grounded, goddess

Sensual, spirit, release, connected

Colorful, starfish, ‘I don’t give a fuck!’ energy

Grace, joy, healing

We soaked in each other’s words, learning what others see in us that we may not, letting those impressions land warmly within us.

On the second to last day, I was able to keep my eyes wide open. I challenged myself to slowly move around the circle, looking every woman in the eye and dancing before and for her.

In those moments, I felt the power of being exposed and yet unwavering in myself; strong enough to reflect imagined judgements and soft enough to receive the gifts of lovingly being seen.  

ps: I would so love to hear your answer to Ogugua’s question in the comments. xo