Battle Me Beauti-Fully: Weapons of the Heart
It was my second semester dancing with the
Longwood Company of Dancers—only four months into dancing ever in my life. At the time, I was just beginning to glimpse the power of manifestation. Like many of my aspirations, I hid this one deep in the corridors of my heart—so far within that even I had trouble accessing it.
For me, dance represented beauty, grace, power, and elegance. It had a way of telling a story, embodying emotions so powerfully that both the audience and the dancers could feel them. After nights spent watching So You Think You Can Dance, I would mimic what I saw in my bedroom mirror. And when I looked at my reflection, I saw someone I longed to know—one day.
—
I had just quit running cross-country for Longwood after a year of nursing a right ankle injury. Deep down, I knew I was clinging to the familiarity of running from high school, trying to force it into a chapter of my life where it no longer fit. So, I let it go.
One day, while living in Frazer dormitory, I was hanging out with a close friend who was about to leave for dance practice. He suggested I tryout.
“Hell no,” I said without hesitation.
I hadn’t planned for it, hadn’t prepared. Eventually—and naively—I compromised at just coming to “watch” tryouts.
—
During that season of my life, I was hyperaware of navigating between two worlds. By day, I was a dedicated student, a committed leader. According to an award I received from Longwood in 2011, I was an “Emerging Leader.” This world was easy to maintain. I knew how to plan, organize, and get things done. My childhood—thanks to the “upsides” of parentification—had prepared me for this half of my life.
Drive and commitment came naturally. No one had to tell me to study or to use my professors’ office hours wisely. Heck, I visited every professor anytime my A was threatened—and without hesitation if I had a solid B.
“What else can I do?”
“Do you think it’s still possible to get an A?”
But it was the other world that I struggled with.
I quickly silenced the calls when they appeared from an “Unknown Caller.” Even now, I can hear the automated voice: “This is a collect call from a federal inmate at ____. You will not be charged for this call. To accept, dial ___ now.”
I would retreat from my friends to speak with my dad, hoping the conversation would be short—praying they wouldn’t ask where I had gone. I hid the financial worries, the ongoing stress of whether I’d even be able to return to college the next semester. During breaks, when people asked what I did, I never said: “Oh, I got on the road at midnight to drive 20+ hours (10+ hours both ways) to see my dad in prison. And I had to stay up the whole time to help my stepmom drive. How about you?”
I suffocated these worries. I buried the parts of my life that had nothing to do with school. But at night, when I closed my eyes, I could no longer hide from them.
—
When Tess asked me to be a part of her dance that semester, at first, I thought she was crazy. Then, I thought she was mistaken. Finally, I figured she was just being nice.
No one else had asked me to be in their dance, which I understood. Despite my whirlwind of worries—fearing I’d look like a fool and expose my inexperience—I said yes.
We danced to Time by Hans Zimmer (from the Inception soundtrack). To be honest, I never really knew the theme of the dance. I was too busy trying to memorize the choreography and—hopefully—not drop anyone during the performance. Recently, I reached out to Tess, and she reminded me: the piece was called “Vices.” And to my surprise, I was the main character, fending off vices embodied by all the other dancers.
—
Dance was an answer to a longing buried deep in my heart—a call the Universe had been strategically waiting to respond to. And it wasn’t just that I danced, but when dance appeared in my life.
Before dance, I existed between two worlds without belonging to either. I could visit, but I could never stay. So, I kept my bags packed and traveled between them. Dance became the bridge. The thread and needle I could use to stitch together the complex nature of my life.
For the first time, I found an outlet to be truly seen.
And being seen no longer required achievement, perfection, or fulfilling the expectations others had of me.
When I danced, I was no longer just the leader rushing across campus to a meeting.
I was no longer just the community service chairperson or the academic role model.
I was no longer just “the smart one” who had made it to college and was frequently phoned for advice and inspiration.
When I danced, I could also be the me who was deeply embarrassed and ashamed to say my father was in prison. I could bring the humiliation I felt during those visits and make something beautiful and useful out of it.
I could be the person who didn’t know how they were going to pay rent next month.
The person who wasn’t sure if they had enough money for food next week.
The person who was afraid.
The person who needed help.
The person who needed a hug and a shoulder to cry on.
When I danced, weakness had its place—and I found power in leveraging it.
The victim within me was not just validated; they were shown a way forward.
And as I embraced everything—the beauty and the brokenness—I discovered something deeper: The transcendent nature of beauty, grace, power, and elegance.
These virtues shine best in the company of their vices.
I didn’t have to fight them.
I didn’t have to run from them.
I had to bring them together.
—
I won’t sugarcoat the season we are in—a season I felt brewing in my spirit since spring and fall of 2024.
It is a battle, in every way.
But as I reflect on one of the lowest points in my life, I see how the battle was good to me. That season proved that I knew how to lace up my boots.
I see now that I am not afraid to go without. I am no longer afraid of systems that were never truly what helped me survive anyway.
Because when I learned that the real battle was within me—when I let the battle beauti-fully have its way with me—that’s when I unlocked a fuller, stronger, more realized version of myself.
I had tried to make perfection, striving, and achievement my home, but I still felt empty inside.
Had my world—and everything I thought had brought me comfort and safety—not been shattered, I would have never discovered the truth about myself, life, and the Divine within me.
I would have never learned that the heart, too, can go to war.
The heart knows how to navigate even the most treacherous seasons.
This is a time for strategy.
The sooner you find yours—the dance, the vessel that will unite your worlds in a way that is authentic to who and where you are now—the sooner you will be ready for what still lies ahead.
We got this.
— Dr. Darrien Jamar 🌹
