There was a time when I could dance. That was back then – before I became self-conscious. Before I cared who was watching, before I learned to crave approval or fear rejection. Back when I could enjoy the moment instead of my obsession with the future.

I can't tell you if I was a good dancer. Even if I was, it wouldn't have mattered. There was no prize. I never won or lost. I simply danced.

I can't remember exactly when I stopped. However, I have everyone else to blame for the change. Or maybe it was just their eyes. They made me too aware of myself till I grew shy. I stayed that way for so long until I forgot what it was like to lose myself to the music. Every time I tried to move, I saw them – the eyes watching closely, waiting for me to miss a beat or make a wrong move.

There were a few times I danced in a group, hidden at the back. It was safer. But that wasn't really dancing. Following a routine isn't the same as being free – choosing each move as it comes, and being lost in the rhythm. Whether at a party or with family at home, I can't dance on my own anymore. Except in my head.

As I got older, I realized I shouldn't let those eyes hold me back. But by then my body had joined the resistance. I'd think of the move about a hundred times, rehearsing every step until the moment passed or the music stopped. My muscles would stay stiff and eventually, my courage did too. I stopped trying. I told myself dancing was simply not my thing. I let everyone think I was too serious – too busy with important things to care.

But the truth is, it was all in my head. I never faced a judge at an audition – yet in my mind, I stood trial countless times. I created a stadium full of spectators whose expectations had to be exceeded in every performance. Every wrong move became a headline, every mistake a trending topic in the market square of my imagination. I made myself the center of attention in a world that wasn't even watching.

Luckily, dancing has never been required for the major steps I've had to take in life. But I worry about those whose struggle involves something that does matter. People who may never make important decisions, whose dreams may die because of the expectations of imaginary spectators. People who run endless simulations in their heads until the moment is gone.

If you are one of them, I do not have a solution – because I haven't danced either. What I can tell you is this: someday when you are ready, you may find your muscles stiff, but I encourage you to try anyway.

Dancing may not be important, but I've missed memories I could have made – if only I'd moved when the music played. Here's what I've learned: the harshest judge is often ourselves. And the real tragedy? Letting that judgment kill the move inside of you.

Thanks for reading! Please leave your thoughts on how this resonates with you