Dancing with Fear: Alchemizing Anxiety into Art

If there’s anything that gets me out of my head and into my body, it’s music. Music has this incredible ability to ground me in the present moment. It’s a safe space where I can feel, process, and let go, allowing healing to happen naturally—without thinking. Fun fact: rhythmic movement, or as the girls and I like to call it, “bopping,” has been shown to regulate the nervous system by activating the parasympathetic response, which helps calm the body and mind. This soothing effect comes from rhythmic patterns synchronizing with the brain, releasing tension and making it an easy and enjoyable way to reduce stress and anxiety.

Healing abilities aside, music has always been something I’ve loved, even as my taste has changed over the years. With a bass guitarist father who would take me on stage with him as a child, I grew up watching him light up every time he picked up a guitar. Naturally, I tried my hand at instruments throughout my childhood. I’d complain to my mom that I got bored because I didn’t want to learn the basics—I just wanted to play! I quit piano lessons after just three days (still regret that). I tried out for choir in 4th grade but was too shy to sing to a crowd, even though my music teacher encouraged me to. And while performing didn’t stick, I loved music nonetheless.

I remember begging my mom for an overpriced HitClip at Limited Too. She finally caved, and I beamed as I walked out of the store. One day, when my dad took me and Arsim to the library, I wandered around the music aisles and spotted the *Genie in a Bottle* album by Christina Aguilera. I ran over to my dad, tugged on his shirt, and held up the CD with a young blonde Christina on the cover, hoping he’d let me rent it. I sang to it every day in my room, even though I accidentally picked up the Spanish version and didn’t really know what I was saying.

I felt so comforted by my blue and green Sony Walkman as I found my seat on the bus to 5th-grade camp, mentally rehearsing the dance Besa and I made up to Britney’s “Outrageous.” By middle school, my iPod mini and headphones felt like an extension of me. I remember downloading every song I could find on LimeWire (cue Bill Clinton’s “I didn’t have sexual relations with that woman” and the endless viruses on my parents’ computer). I was always excited to help make the playlist for our basketball team’s warm-ups. Anything involving music—I wanted in.

That trend continued, diving deep into alt indie and folk rock after getting Ray-Ban square-frame glasses, a record player, and my nose pierced in college. Oh, and I can’t forget about Drake’s Views for the Skeeps pregame. Music decorated every chapter of my life.

None of this changed as an adult; in fact, as I entered my alt R&B era, it intensified. I’d always think about different ways to be more involved in the music scene but never fully saw them through. I still indulged in show-going, often alone, because that way, it was just me and the music—genuine joy, pleasure deeply felt. No mind, just heart and body. Forever enamored by artists on stage, I couldn’t help but daydream about being in their shoes. But I’d quickly remind myself, “I’m just not a performer or artist. I’m more of a behind-the-scenes girl. I wouldn’t want the attention.” (Read: I was afraid to be seen.)

Over the last few years, as I’ve challenged my fears and limiting beliefs around expressing myself and found an unfathomable love for house music, I realized I could explore music in a completely new way. While there’s nothing wrong with simply consuming music, I knew I wanted to be on the other side of it. I was intrigued by what moved through artists when they played—the radiant energy, the effortless focus, and flow. Knowing what it felt like to receive that energy, I could only imagine what it felt like to be the vessel for it, the first to be touched by it before sharing it with the world.

Two Christmases ago, Sterling gifted me a DDJ-FLX4—an incredibly thoughtful gift I couldn’t wait to use. Yet, I found excuses to put it off, not touching it for a year before finally picking it up.Karl, a good friend of mine and an awesome DJ, offered to help me learn the fundamentals, and this time, I wasn’t going to quit. I promised myself I’d get a gig by the end of summer. So, I practiced in my room endlessly for months. (Ask Kelsey—she had to listen to it all the time.) I played for myself and, sometimes, for friends while we had little dance parties in the living room of our Lower East Side apartment. Summer rolled around, and on June 1st, I was scheduled for my first gig at my friend’s restaurant (S/O The Wooly). I immediately said yes. The intuitive YES moved through me so quickly, I didn’t have time to overthink it. I just knew I wanted to do it.

I remember practicing before the gig, so riddled with nerves—I couldn’t even eat. I got set up and waited for the moment I’d be on. I exchanged hellos with friends who had come to support. I hugged my friend Shelby; she said she could feel my heart pounding through my chest. Consumed by fear, I looked around at the patrons, simply minding their business, sipping cocktails, and chatting over dinner. I put my headphones on and pressed play. I was locked in, too focused—rigid, even. Soon enough, the first track neared its end. I placed my finger on the little knobs and swapped out the bass between the tracks, just as I had practiced. A simple, smooth, seamless transition. Relief washed over me. By the third track, all the fear and anxiety melted away. I loosened up, danced, and engaged with friends and new faces. I was buzzing.

In one seemingly small act of bravery, I shattered a belief that told me it wasn’t safe to be seen—that I had to be perfect before doing something I love. A moment of profound healing for my inner child. Was I terrified? Yes. Did I feel ready? No. Was I perfect? Also no. But I did it anyway because deep down, it felt right. And while it may not seem like a big deal, it was a huge turning point for me.

Now, when I play, the nerves are still there, but quickly enough everything else fades into the background, and it’s just me, the deck, and the music. It’s my world, where I exist blissfully and connect with others without a word. A deep knowing: this is genuinely for me.

That’s the thing about fear. The more you care about something, the more it scares you, and the more courage it takes. But on the other side of that, you’ll find just as much joy and expansion. Your mind will find plenty of reasons to stop you from stepping forward, but let your intuition be stronger. Poke holes in all the reasons why you shouldn’t and lean into all the reasons why you should. And sometimes, you may not even need a reason—but if it’s coming from your heart of hearts, trust it.

And as you move through fear into expansion, don’t forget that the path can be weaved with playfulness and humor too. Let it be fun. I always joke that oftentimes we spend all this time considering the possible outcomes of what may happen if we take the risk, only for the actual outcome to not be scenario A or scenario B, but a third mysterious thing that you could have never imagined. The path reveals itself to you with each step forward you take, asking you to trust its direction even if you can’t see what’s at the other end. And that’s what makes it exciting, right?

Knowing that the step you're taking is in alignment with your authenticity and your heart’s deepest desires is enough. A heart-led decision reaps a heart-led result, even if it doesn’t look how you’d expect it to.

So I ask you—what is it that you truly want? What really lights you up? And what’s stopping you from going after it?

You might say, “I don’t know.” But deep down, I think you do.