The Highs and Lows of a Dance Recital

I am writing this because my father just called me and asked why I was so rude to him after my dance recital two days ago. I had walked out of the back stage band room dreading the crowds of people, sweaty hugs, flowers that would rot in my car, and the fake smile that I had to put on. I like dancing. I like expressing myself and feeling like I can do anything. I hate watching the video afterward and realizing that I look like an idiot. I love the end of the year recital because I am (usually) proud of the dances I have practiced. This being my senior year, I had a solo that I choreographed myself, and that was what I was most proud of. I was also excited for my dance teacher to announce where I was going to college next year and try not to cry. I loved my time backstage, reading my book, helping the younger girls with their hair and organizing field trips to the bathroom. I really do love dance recitals. I hate the part where I run off stage into pure blackness and pray that I don’t step on someone’s feet or trip and break my face. I hate the part where I get too early in my solo and have to improvise. More than anything, I hate the part where I walk outside and see my aunt high as a kite and the flowers that my father got me because he still doesn’t understand that I do not like flowers. I hate the part where we take pictures for ten minutes because my best friend’s mom is a photographer. I hate the part where my dad leaves because he has to work in the morning. I hate the part where I hold back an anxiety attack because another thing is over and my life is ending and I’m going away to school and I’m never going to see my family again and I need to smile for another picture. I hate the part where I want to hug my mom and cry but I can’t. Because people will be worried and ask questions and let me know that it’s okay and I know it’s okay, I’m just overwhelmed. I love dancing and our end of the year recital, but it really sucks, too.