When I was little, I took tap and ballet classes. I actually liked it. The classes were fun, and I still remember the sound of those tap shoes on the floor and the smell of the dance studio. But the whole time, I carried this quiet dread—the recital.
I knew it was coming. That moment when I’d have to step on a big stage, under bright lights, in front of a crowd. The thought of it made me sick to my stomach.
So, I quit…right before the recital.
I wish my mom hadn’t let me. But now, as a mom myself, I kind of understand. You don’t want to push your child into something that makes them panic. It’s hard to watch your kid struggle. But the truth? I should’ve been held accountable. I should’ve been encouraged to face it.
Because quitting let me off the hook, and that wasn’t the only time.
I loved to sing as a kid. One day, my mom overheard me singing in the shower, so she signed me up for voice lessons. Honestly, I was secretly happy she caught me. I knew I could sing, and I actually loved everything about it.
Except the “recital” part. Again.
Once a month, we’d perform at an assisted living facility. It was such a beautiful thing to do—the residents were so appreciative, and it was low pressure in the grand scheme of things. But still, I was terrified. I’d feel sick for days before every visit. I got through it, but I hated how anxious it made me. Those sweet folks just wanted some music—why couldn’t I just enjoy it?
The little girl who quit before the recital, and the girl who sang with a stomach full of nerves? She stuck around for a long time.
I avoided being seen. Not because I wasn’t good enough—but because I was afraid of what people might think if I tried and it didn’t land perfectly.
Until now.
At 51, I’m finally going to the recital. Not in tap shoes. Not singing on tour. But still fully on stage in a way. I’m writing. I’m creating. I’m putting myself out there, even when it’s scary.
And yes—it still is sometimes. But I’m doing it anyway.
For years, I believed I wasn’t brave. That I just didn’t have what it takes to be out front. But really? I just never gave myself the chance to prove otherwise.
So, here I am. Late to the show, maybe—but I showed up.
There’s no age limit on showing up for yourself. It also feels kind of amazing to go to that recital.
Who knows? Maybe it’s finally time I dust off the microphone.
That decision to finally “go to the recital” opened up something bigger for me—something I didn’t see coming. I write more about what that turned into here: The Power of Rediscovering Yourself
