Repetition is Underrated: The Quiet Power of Going Slow

There’s a moment every dancer hits—whether you’re a beginner just figuring out how to shift your weight, or someone years into the craft—where your body just doesn’t get it. You try the move again. And again. And again. And nothing seems to stick.

I used to think the solution was more music.

More dancing.

More energy.

I figured if I just kept flowing through full songs, eventually the moves would land. That somehow, repetition would just happen naturally as I danced.

But this week, something shifted.

I’ve been working on a specific combination—one that, at first, felt like a complete blur. I’d get a few counts in and blank out, or stumble through sections with no real sense of where my weight should be. It was frustrating. Not in a dramatic, “I’m going to quit dancing” way, but in the quiet, gnawing kind of way where it feels like your progress has flatlined.

So I tried something different. I slowed everything down.

Like, really slowed it down. Instead of dancing to full-speed tracks, I looped a mellow instrumental at maybe 60% of the original BPM.

Sometimes slower.

Sometimes I wasn’t even dancing to a song—just a lo-fi rhythm or even a metronome beat. And with each pass, I gave myself one goal: remember the sequence clearly, and move through it with intention.

No pressure to “kill it.” Definitely no rush to hit musicality, only clean, consistent reps.

And that’s when it started to change.

Repetition, it turns out, isn’t just about doing something again. It’s about doing something deliberately. It’s about slowing the process down enough that your body has time to actually learn—not just survive.

After a few slow reps, my mind stopped racing to keep up. My body began to predict what was coming next. And with that space—tiny as it was—I had enough bandwidth to start adding style. Like a shoulder accent or a moment of breath.

An arm that didn’t just follow, but painted something.

What felt impossible at full speed started to become expressive at half-speed.

And here’s the thing: I never would’ve gotten there if I kept forcing my body through rushed reps and full-speed social tracks. I needed the stillness. The focus. The boring part.

Because repetition isn’t glamorous.

It’s not sexy and nor does it make for a flashy Instagram post.

But it’s where the memory happens, and that's what gives you freedom.

When a move lives deep in your muscle memory, you stop trying to remember it.

You get to play with it.

You get to listen to the music more closely.

You get to connect with your partner more fully.

You get to style, interpret, and breathe.

You stop surviving the song, and finally feel like you've started dancing it.

So if you’re in that stage where everything feels messy—if you’re watching the same video ten times and still can’t figure out where your arm goes—try this:

Slow it down.

Loop the music.

Take a breath.

Drill it with care, not just repetition.

And if it feels boring at first? That’s probably a sign you’re doing it right.

Because the slow, steady grind is the part no one sees. But it’s what makes the magic possible.