Thursday morning, I sat in bed and watched this video:
I am an Under Armour blog ambassador. I am a Misty Copeland fan. I am African American. I am a dancer. But when I felt my eyes burning and the tears coming, I knew it was bigger than what I saw on that screen. People don’t get it. Unless you’ve lived it. I have said it A MILLION TIMES. I am no Misty. If I had to pick a dance genre that I would avoid at all costs, it would be ballet. I had large breasts as a teenager. I have always had a large bottom. I have just never been poised enough to do ballet. I’m too wild, too street, too loose.
Too not what everybody thought I should be.
It’s the lie I’ve heard all of my life. And one too many times I’ve fed into it.
That letter they read on the video? Nope, it was a letter to me. But I’ve heard quite a few like it. There have been quite a few conversations as to why I wouldn’t make it as a dancer, a personal trainer, a fitness instructor, a yoga teacher. You name it, I’ve heard it. Sometimes it was to my face. Sometimes it was behind my back. Those tears Thursday morning didn’t make me want to go out and buy more Under Armour clothes (like I need more) or go put on some pointe shoes (always thought and told I was too big to ever try that either). It made me mad as hell. I was just mad at all the fighting I felt like I had done to be noticed, to be seen, to be heard, to be acknowledged, to be patted on the back. And then, then I remembered this:
I am no Misty. I am Tasha and I Will What I Want.
It isn’t up to anybody to decide who or what I become. It’s my decision. And it’s time to change the game. Again.
It’s time to make history.