I remember this particular day back when I was maybe 4 or 5 years old, we were all gathered in a particular bedroom at home; the whole family. There was a lot of laughter, jokes and joy in the air; my siblings were jisting and my parents were excited, it just was a perfect ‘happy family’ moment.

Someone started singing, another person started drumming and then I got up and started to dance. The four-year old Funmz danced with reckless abandon, serving ‘hot moves’ and ‘dance steps’ anyhow and my siblings and parents cheered me on. I was happy, they were happy, the whole room was charged; I was a star at that moment and I totally loved it.

I danced for a while longer, some sleek Shina Peter moves (I think) and kept the entire family entertained, until suddenly, I made a wrong move, tripped and fell. Gosh! Everything literally came crashing down on me. It wasn’t so much the pain from the actual  fall that got me; it was the shame from having such an experience on a ‘global stage’, in the full glare of the ‘public’. It didn’t matter to me that this public was my own nuclear family, and that the stage was just a bed in the room. The embarrassment I felt on that particular day cannot adequately be captured in words.

My siblings rallied round, tried to comfort me and help me get past the incident so I could continue dancing, but I just couldn’t. As far as I remember, that was the day dance died. I didn’t stand up to continue dancing, and from then on, I could hardly get myself to dance in public anymore. The fear of falling over, the fear of awkward movements, the fear of whatever else could possibly go wrong has held me back.  Something deep down tells me that if only I tried again, I would find out just how much of a great dancer I am or can be. But no, I have not permitted myself to. My dance has remained precious and private; done only either in the comfort of my room or in the recesses of my mind. 

Today, as I clock 34, my birthday gift to myself is this post that you are reading.  I absolutely love WRITING, but over the years I have kept my writings hidden away, either in my journal or on my drive. I resolved within myself not to let what happened to my dance happen to my gift of writing. No more writing and hiding just because I think it’s not perfect enough for public consumption.

It has taken me so long to realise that it’s not always about perfection, sometimes, all that is required is ‘Yes, I am ready’.  This is 34, and I commit to dusting off my journals and sharing stories with the world with my full chest.

Happy Birthday Funmz, this is not the perfect “first public post” you planned, but this obedience is perfectly timed.