The Quiet, Universal Hum of Anxiety

A couple weeks ago I went back to one of my favourite festivals in Australia. Up on the Sunny Coast of Brisbane, we stayed for three days and nights, learning from some of the best Bachata dancers in the country, along with some incredibly talented international artists.

The atmosphere was electric, filled with so many friendly and familiar faces. And all the excitement that comes with it, of course.

But beneath all the flash and flow, I felt something consistent, a quiet undercurrent that was just as universal as the rhythm: a 'universal hum' of anxiety. That weekend had some tough competitions coming up, many performances, as well as this underlying pressure from different people, for a million different reasons.

It was everywhere I looked.

I saw it in the eyes of the semi-professional dancer with clean, complex technique, who was still checking the sidelines for approval. I felt it radiating off the follower with the beautiful, showy arm styling, worried that she was too much. And of course, I recognised it immediately in the nervous energy and apologies of the beginners in the room, clearly in awe of the talent surrounding them.

It seems we are all carrying some luggage when we step onto the floor.

Enter the Vulnerable Space

I think we all worry about a thousand little things: our belonging in this space, our confidence in ourselves, our movements, our clothes. We are hyper-aware of where we fit in the social hierarchy, who we should ask for a dance, who we should not, and whether our skill matches the room we've stepped into.

The truth is, the dance floor is a profoundly vulnerable space. It’s not just where we move; it’s where we actively choose to be seen-our body language, our mistakes, our energy, and our readiness to connect are all on display.

Your favourite dancer? The one you think has it all figured out? They’re probably a little anxious too. Maybe not about the steps, but about their social energy, their frame, or the connection they're about to initiate.

This realisation is key: we are more alike in our struggle than we are different in our skill. It was a big reminder for me that we are all on the same team, fundamentally.

Reframe that Hum

For too long, we’ve treated this anxiety like a personal failing-a weakness we need to hide, fix, or apologise for. But what if we decided to reframe it entirely?

Your anxiety isn't a problem; it's just a profound sign that you care. You care about the music, the quality of the experience, and the human being in front of you. That much vulnerability and emotional investment just demands your honest presence and a gentle acknowledgement that you are absolutely not alone in that feeling.

Let's work on transforming the 'hum' from a constant mental distraction into a shared bond.

Instead of fighting the feeling, recognise it as the shared human experience of stepping outside our comfort zone and offering a piece of ourselves. When you look at your partner, consciously realise they are likely carrying their own version of that quiet hum.

This shared humanity is where the real connection begins. It strips away the pressure of the performance and invites you to focus on the person and the present moment.

A New Way to Connect

We can use that shared understanding to find more grace on the floor, and in our own heads:

• Grant Yourself Instant Grace: Forgive your own little stumbles, awkward moments, or forgotten moves instantly. Try to treat yourself with the same quiet kindness you would show a nervous beginner.

  
  

• Look for the Human: Consciously focus on the connection, not the choreography. When you are truly connecting with the human you're dancing with, the anxiety about the steps naturally fades into the background.

  
  

The next time you step onto the social floor-whether it’s a packed festival in Brisbane or a quiet mid-week class-just remember this: You don't have to conquer your anxiety; you just have to acknowledge it. Use that shared vulnerability to connect with your partner-and yourself-a little more.

The most magical dances aren't the ones where the anxiety disappears entirely, but the ones where you are brave enough to dance through it, together.