When You Can’t Remember What It Was Like to Begin

A gentle reminder for teachers, students—and anyone who’s grown past their first steps.

This week, a memory popped up on my phone from five years ago. A dance video I’d nearly forgotten about. The lighting was bad. The angles were worse. My dancing? Awkward at best.

But I watched the whole thing. Not to cringe or critique — but to remember.

Because most of my early dance videos don’t exist. Not because I lost them, but because I didn’t think they were worth keeping. I felt too self-conscious to ask someone to film me. Too unsure of myself to want to watch it back. Too focused on what wasn’t working to see what was.

Now, years later, I wish I had those videos.

Not for content.

For context.

Because when I’m teaching, I sometimes forget what the beginning actually felt like.

Not the idea of it — the texture of it. The confusion. The clumsiness. The self-doubt. The little victories that didn’t look like much, but felt like everything.

And when that memory fades, it gets easier to expect people to understand things faster.

To assume they can “just pick it up.”

To explain something from where I am now… instead of where they are.

It’s Not That We Stop Caring

If anything, we care more. We want our students, peers, or communities to grow. To get it. To feel confident. But care without context can lead to pressure.

And I’ve caught myself doing it.

Saying things like “just relax into it” when I know that sentence means nothing if your body doesn’t feel safe yet.

Or “this gets easier over time,” without explaining how many months I spent getting stuck on the same pattern.

It’s not that I don’t remember struggling. It’s that I don’t always feel it the same way anymore.

And that emotional memory? It matters.

What Helps Me Stay Grounded

I’ve started paying more attention to the questions people ask me. Because sometimes, it’s not about the technique they’re asking for —it’s about reassurance.

“Am I the only one who still finds this hard?”

“Is it normal to feel like I’m not improving?”

“Does it always feel this awkward?”

I used to think I needed to have the perfect technical answer. Now I realize what people often need first is context. A reminder that the messy middle is part of it. That feeling lost doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong — it means you’re deep in the process.

Teaching From Memory vs. Teaching From Mastery

I’m learning that there’s a difference between teaching from mastery and teaching from memory.

Teaching from mastery means you’ve integrated the thing. It feels natural. But teaching from memory means you can still trace your way back to the beginning. You haven’t forgotten what the confusion felt like, or how long it took for something to finally click.

And the more I teach, the more I want to stay in touch with that version of me.

The one who didn’t know where to place their weight. Who overthought every arm movement. Who froze on the social floor and thought maybe they weren’t cut out for this.

Because that version still lives in all of us.

Even now.

Everyone Starts Somewhere

Some of your students will learn faster than you did. Some will take longer. Some will question themselves more, or less, or in totally different ways.

But nobody gets to skip the beginning.

And as teachers — or even just experienced dancers — we have a responsibility to protect that space. To keep it soft. Safe. Open. Encouraging.

To make room for the awkwardness without rushing it. To celebrate the basics like they matter — because they do. To remember that what feels simple now, once felt impossibly complicated.

And to honor how far we’ve come, not by distancing ourselves from the past, but by staying connected to it.

If You’re a Teacher (or Becoming One)

Keep your old videos. Write down the things that confused you. Ask people what they’re feeling, not just what they’re doing.

Teach from what you’ve learned —but never forget how long it took you to learn it.

There’s wisdom in your mastery. But there’s empathy in your memory.

And it’s the combination of both that makes you magnetic.