Sometimes, the most profound moments in a class aren’t about perfecting movement or mastering a step. They happen in between the steps, in moments of vulnerability and self-discovery. Today was one of those unforgettable moments.
A lady who has been studying with me on and off came to class today. She was the only one who showed up. She’s always in a hurry, finishing sentences before you even know how they’ll end. Her energy is palpable. She moves constantly, almost like she’s made of liquid, her body always in motion.
At the very start of class, she mentioned that she has anemia and believes the constant inner shaking she feels is a symptom of her condition. Her words stayed with me. I’m not a doctor, but with some understanding of physiology, I couldn’t help but question her explanation. Typically, people with anemia tend to have low energy and lower blood pressure, not an abundance of nervous energy.
Still, I didn’t want to undermine her logic but gently offered another perspective. I suggested it might be anxiety—not her body reacting to low iron, but her mind responding to the pressure of “performing well.”
One Step at a Time: Dancing Past Fear
We started working slowly, focusing on balance—something I knew had always been a challenge for her. We moved deliberately, one step at a time, creating a small choreography that required her to stabilize her walk and stand on one foot for a few seconds without shaking. As expected, she needed a break. She was perspiring a lot, as she always does, and casually mentioned : “When I get nervous, I sweat like crazy.”
I asked, “Why are you nervous?”
She paused. “Because of the fear, I guess.”
Half-joking, I asked, “And what are you afraid of? Am I that scary?”
And that’s when the magic happened.
Her eyes welled up with tears. “I’m afraid of teachers,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “Now I remember… When I was in school, I made typos all the time, and my teacher would constantly reprimand me. I was always embarrassed and cried in class.”
In that instant, everything clicked into place. Years of fear and anxiety, rooted in a single painful experience, had been following her into every new learning situation.
I drew from every bit of my own inner work, the voices of my therapists, and my experience working with adults over the years. I told her what she had just experienced was an incredible breakthrough.
The Dance Floor Is a Blank Canvas
I explained that her struggles weren’t because she was a flawed student—they never had been. Her teacher had failed her. When an adult reprimands a child repeatedly for a mistake, the problem is never with the child; it’s with the method. The frustration the teacher expressed was a reflection of their own limitations, not hers.
Whenever we learn something new, especially as adults, we enter what I call "child mode." It’s a beautiful, vulnerable space where everything is yet to be discovered—a blank sheet waiting for color and life. A teacher’s role isn’t to judge those first clumsy attempts but to encourage exploration, providing endless blank sheets and creating a space where “mistakes” are simply part of the journey.
Her tears turned into a smile as she realized that the fear she had carried for so long no longer needed to define her.
When we resumed the exercise, everything had changed. She was calm, quiet, and completely in the moment. Her body relaxed, her balance steady, her movements fluid. Even her voice softened.
We danced a little together, and for the first time, she wasn’t rushing or shaking. She was just there—smooth, confident, and joyful.
I was almost in tears myself.
Tango as a Path to Confidence and Joy
Tango is so much more than movement. It’s a mirror reflecting our inner world—our insecurities, our strengths, and our stories. Teaching tango is not just about guiding steps; it’s about helping people reconnect with themselves, peeling back layers of fear, and rediscovering their innate beauty and worth.
Moments like the one I shared today remind me why I love what I do. Every class has the potential to become a journey of healing and empowerment.
In tango—and in life—we don’t move in perfect lines or predictable patterns. We take it one step at a time, learning to trust ourselves along the way. And with each step, we uncover something new: our strength, our grace, and the endless possibilities that come with a blank sheet of paper.
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