Almost two years, almost two years.
It’s been almost two years since I last published a blog post.
Recently I have been breathing fresh life into my website and allowing my website to more accurately reflect what I’m currently doing and how I’m being called to teach more and more.
I’m directing a pre-professional classical ballet program on Friday Harbor come fall and teaching at various intensives this summer.
And with the freshening of my website comes the thought of what to do with my blog?!
It’s use or lose it time.
And I’ve decided to use it and begin to start publishing again and perhaps even get back to me a bit more. Sharing my gifts and special talents with the world.
I do love writing and blogging is a unique sort of publication which has the potential for instant connection and communication.
I’ve been scared of being public for too long now. The time has come to break that fear.
…….
Almost two years ago now, I sustained two concussions 10 days apart from each other. And perhaps the fact that these were my third and fourth concussions of my life and perhaps this was my “wake up” call from the universe.
Anyways, my next year of life was filled with struggle, change, love, support and huge amounts of joy, purpose and singular clarity.
I can best describe that year as the year that I lost my brain.
This is a hard topic for me to share and one I’d really prefer not to share and just continue hiding away from.
And yet, I cannot. Or rather it is doing me little good living my life in that way.
I believe (and this TERRIFIES me) that I will find much more power embracing the year I lost my brain because the truth is it changed me, it changed my life, it changed the person I am today.
So much so that a year after the concussions, I had to make myself recognize that I was healed, or at least my brain was healed and I was back to some level of normalcy. The problem was I no longer really knew who I was and my brain works differently now. I am not the same person.
Powerful, heart wrenching lesson. A lesson I’d really prefer not to have to live with. I’d prefer to hide from this lesson. And that I have to, perhaps continuously, learn about this new me, this new brain of mine.
The majority of this first draft was written with an abundance of tears flowing.
A very wise woman told me when I was just beginning this journey of post-concussion life that I should use the experience of my concussions in my teaching of ballet. That I should share it with others. That I have a unique experience and I should use it to help others.
I really don’t want to though.
And yet, I think I’m finally tired of running and struggling. I think I’m finally ready to let go, finally ready to fall.
I am no longer a girl struggling to strive and thrive in NYC. I’m now a woman who needs helps, perhaps more help than most. Words, thoughts, ideas regularly escape me and it’s embarrassing. So much of my life before I decided to become a professional ballet dancer was all about my smarts and my ability to remember and excel in academics. Being smart was an aspect of my identity, a part I feel I no longer have because outside of dance**, it now takes me much longer to learn new things.
(**As my brain was healing I was still fully able to dance ballet and perform classically which became an interesting learning and healing experience. It was through dancing ballet that I was able to retrain my brain and find some level of stability in my life.)
I’m in a relationship now, the relationship I have been searching for for years, with a man who truly sees me for who I am, more and more every single day so much so that regularly I think he is just being nice. And yet, he sees me, he sees my unique light in a way no one ever has in my life. He encourages me to become more and more of myself and own my abilities, my skills, my strengths and successes.
And you know what?
I absolutely believe that I am finding that truer and truer bit of myself with every single day I live with him by my side.
And so with this amazing support in my life daily, I believe I can finally conquer my fear of embracing, incorporating and sharing publicly the year I lost my brain.
Emily Anton 