Dancing Alone (and Liking It)

Sometimes I just want to be alone.
I think I’ve always been this way.

There’s something deeply peaceful about sitting in my own silence — just me and my thoughts, no noise, no small talk, no expectations. It’s not lonely. It’s re-energizing. I actually like my own company.

When I was a little girl, I used to sneak into the living room, put on my mother’s Tchaikovsky album, and dance with the door shut tight. I didn’t have a clue how to dance — but oh, the freedom! The music would fill the air, and I’d twirl until I fell over laughing. It was my secret world, just me being me.

Now, after days of chemo exhaustion, I’ve found myself sitting quietly again — just like that little girl, alone but content. My body might be tired, but my mind is still stretching its arms toward all the other versions of me waiting in the wings:

The sewist. The reader. The dancer. The cook.
The comedian. The writer. The helper. The friend.

I’m ready for those me’s to come back out to play.
Because underneath this worn-out chemo girl is still that same dreamer — the one who dances when nobody’s watching.