A Message for the People Who Judged Me for Being a Latina Who Can’t Dance

My relationship with dance is un poco complicado. Having grown up during the 1990s and early 2000s — aka the golden age of the pop star — I couldn’t get enough of the elaborate choreography of our pop icons. Did I sashay down the living room swinging my arms from one side to the other, a la Britney Spears in her debut single, “...Baby One More Time?” Yes, absolutely. Did I watch the music video for NSYNC’s “Bye Bye Bye” approximately 1,000 times so I could master their moves? You bet I did. 

Of course, my dedication to memorizing eight counts wasn’t necessarily a sign that I was good at dancing. When I began taking dance classes as a kid, it became pretty clear to me that while I had a zest for expressing myself through movement, I didn’t have quite the amount of discipline needed to be a dancer dancer. Ballet had too many rules and I couldn’t keep up. Tap was fun for about two seconds before I lost interest. Jazz and hip-hop were probably my favorite styles of dance back then, but classes were a pricey privilege. Given my family’s modest household income, it simply wasn’t financially sustainable to continue dancing if I had no intention of being truly committed to the art form. 

Then, in middle school, I joined a local ballet folklórico dance troupe. A few of my friends belonged to the group, and while I was still somewhat intimidated by the idea of dancing and performing, it seemed like a good way to better connect with my Mexican roots. I soon fell in love with the ornate dresses we wore, the ritual of applying performance makeup, and the rush of energy I experienced right before stepping onto the stage. Even if there were only a handful of people in the crowd — and I’ll be honest, a lot of times, that was the case — I came to understand firsthand the power of storytelling through dance. 

But let me reiterate: None of this meant that I was any good. In fact, I can confidently say that I was squarely average in my dancing capability. Sure, years of carefully memorizing music video choreography meant I could keep time and had some semblance of rhythm. Yet I still struggled with certain moves that were more complex, like in the traditional La Bruja dance from Veracruz, in which we wore white lace dresses and balanced a glass of water on our heads. It was a dance only the most skilled troupe members could perform. The one or two times I attempted it, I dropped the glass on stage and watched it shatter into a million little pieces. Needless to say, I never performed La Bruja again. 

Fortunately, I eventually found a creative outlet that was appropriate for my personality and skill set. My freshman year in high school, I took an intro to theater class and soon enough, I became a quintessential “theater kid.” Our theater program put on three shows a year — a musical in the fall, a one-act play in the winter, and a spring play — and I participated in nearly all of them. The musicals, in particular, provided me with a window into another world of dance. I witnessed how acting, singing, and dancing came together to create something special, magical even. And while I certainly wasn’t the most coordinated, most flexible, or most rhythmic, it was theater that helped me finally accept that I could still be a dancer without being the best at it.

That philosophy has gotten me through any insecurities I may have experienced as an adult in relation to dance, especially as a Latina. Because let’s be honest: The expectations for us to have some kind of exceptional, God-given natural rhythm can be really high. I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know how to salsa the “right way,” and my bachata doesn’t always bachata, if you know what I mean. At parties, weddings, and other social gatherings that revolve around dance, sometimes I chill on the sidelines with my refreshment of choice. Other times, I’ll throw caution to the wind and bust a couple of moves on the dance floor — proper form and rules be damned. 

To dance or not dance is very much a personal decision, and I spoke with several Latinas who admittedly can’t dance or struggle with dance in some way. I wanted to learn how they’ve broken free from the embarrassment that comes with that and how they’ve chosen (or chosen not to) move their bodies anyway.

I never learned how to dance, and I felt as though it came naturally to the rest of my peers. Instead of trying to learn, I just let time keep passing, and that turned into me never learning how! I was not uninterested; if anything, it was one of the things that interested me the most when I was younger. I did ballet, jazz, and hip-hop classes when I was little but never learned any dance related to my culture.

I still don’t [dance]! I’m old enough that it isn’t “cute” that I don’t know how to dance, so I don’t bother explaining anymore and just sit aside. I avoid the situation at all costs because I am also old enough to be made fun of now. I go inside to play with the dogs. I still have that anxiety inside of me knowing that one day I am going to have to at my wedding, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.

Three major things happened to me. The first was at my cousin’s quinceanera. When I was about 8, one of my tías saw me sitting down while everyone else was dancing. She came and asked me why I wasn’t dancing, and I told her I couldn’t. She said anyone could dance and proceeded to teach me how to dance to Latine music, which gave me the confidence that I was able to dance, and I just needed someone to be kind and teach me. 

The second event was in high school when two of my best friends, who are still my best friends, saw me dance. Since I had little to no rhythm, they taught me about rhythm. They showed me how to have fun and be on beat; they said that was dancing. Lastly, I realized in high school that performing in front of an audience was one of my favorite things because I loved to sing, do spoken word, and do public speaking. So when it came to singing at school events, I saw the importance of stage presence. If you couldn’t get the audience to interact with you while performing, it wasn’t a good performance. With stage presence came dancing to the beat, and although I wasn’t the best dancer and just knew how to move to the beat, it was enough for people to have fun with me while performing. 

I feel like my relationship with dance today is positive because, although I still wouldn’t call myself a “good dancer,” I have rhythm and know how to have fun. I can now dance in front of family and friends because I know that as long as I’m enjoying myself and can exude a bit of confidence, dancing doesn’t have to be negative anymore. Yes, there are still times when I get self-conscious, but I can shake it off knowing it’s not that serious and have fun, no matter what random move I make.

I remember being around 5 years old, just being silly jumping around and being told I look stupid and have no rhythm, so I became conscious of that. About a year after that, my mom put us in dance. and I froze on stage. After that, I was done. I was already so hyper-conscious of myself and drawing attention to myself and my failures that I avoided it at all costs. A big part of me wanted to do it and do it well, but I was and still am so scared of failure or drawing attention to myself and looking stupid. I pretended I wasn’t interested and I didn't like to when I was younger just to avoid people asking me questions, but deep down I wanted to be there having fun.

It's about the same. I long for it more now than ever. I’m grown grown. A whole wife and mom. Plus my husband is Jamaican, so dancing is huge in both of our cultures. My daughter and husband are always dancing and singing, and they love it. I love music, too, so I enjoy watching them. But I want to enjoy it with them. I want to feel that freedom, you know? Once in a while, I'll do a simple bachata to make my husband happy, but that’s it. Normally you can find me on the side at a table just hanging out. One day I will be free.

A home video of me attempting to dance to “Azúcar” by Celia Cruz at 10 became a lasting embarrassment.  That may have been the first and last time I danced as a kid, especially after it was being shared with every family and close friend. As a kid, it feels like you’re the live entertainment because everyone is always watching and talking about the things you do. Everything you do is “cute” or “funny,” and you’re the center of attention, which made me a little more shy than I should have been.

One of the biggest things was learning to embrace culture more. Growing up in Miami, you take things like dancing for granted. Living away from Miami made me realize the significance of food, language, and dancing in Latine culture. I also learned that you’re going to be judged for everything when you have Latine parents. It just comes with the territory and you shouldn’t take it to heart.

I was fortunate, in a way, that my parents were more family-focused than social butterflies; therefore, there was no real pressure from the family to dance at events. I was also fortunate that my mom was not a big dancer (until recently, she made my dad take classes), so there was no pressure from her. The embarrassment was more socially with classmates. 

Growing up in Puerto Rico, the dance parties became popular early on — maybe sixth grade — and probably 95% of my classmates knew how to dance. There would be parties with DJs hosted in garages or country clubs. While it was always anxiety-inducing to go to parties at a young age, not attending was a social faux pas! I learned the art of the wallflower early on … next to the snacks. Fast forward to the 11th-grade ring ceremony, where we had to dance with our dads, a panic attack ensued. And I remember him being like, “It’s no big deal,” as if I were being dramatic for the sense of being dramatic. I soon learned that this is an anxiety that others may not understand or believe to be as monumental, but for me it always was.

I still have anxiety over it. I do not aim to go to social situations where dancing is involved. I recently danced at my wedding in Puerto Rico. It was a big YOLO moment.

Growing up, our culture and anything related to it wasn’t something “cool.” So when we did go to bailes or any type of fiesta, my dad forced me to dance. I felt awkward and “not cool” because I didn’t see it as something to be proud of. The only people I ever saw or knew who danced the way we did were my family, not my friends in school (who were majority white). The dancing that I did like was what I saw in the middle school and high school dances, which were not dances from mi cultura. It was interesting because “our dancing” — the way my parents danced — I tended to shy away from it. But the “cool dancing” that was done in my school, that I enjoyed.

That came as I got older and started connecting with my cultura and roots more. As I got older and started to learn to appreciate the beauty in my cultura, that also allowed me to start to see our dancing as a beautiful thing and something to be proud of.

Being Latina, there’s a certain expectation that you not only love to dance but are “good” at it. I associated the concept of dancing with being sexy and alluring, whereas teenage me was clumsy and awkward. I didn’t feel anything like the girls on the dance floor who could perfectly move their hips to the beat.

I am still not a dancer and do slightly regret and feel saddened by the fact that I didn’t think I was good enough as a kid to learn. Bad Bunny definitely would not invite me on stage, nor would I put myself on there! However, I know now that dancing is supposed to be fun! Going out with friends and allowing myself to be my most free self has changed this for me. Now I’ll be at a party hopping around, singing the lyrics to my favorite songs and just do whatever feels right. I accept that I am not the most gifted in this arena and that’s completely okay! At family gatherings, I’ll dance with my mom and still have her talk me through the steps to a salsa. Either way, I’m much more willing to go out and dance nowadays.
Interviews were edited for length and clarity.