By Alyce Wilson

There’s nothing as good for your self-esteem as bellydancing to thunderous applause. I found that out recently, at my first public solo performance. I’d dared myself to do it, not really knowing what to expect but knowing it was something I had to try.

For years, I’ve struggled with a bloated self-image formed as much by junior high school catcalls as by comparing myself to the emaciated ideals of American commercial media.

Bellydancers come in all sorts of sizes and body types. But there’s something inside bellydancers, a joyful, primal sensuality. And that’s what I wanted to discover in myself.

The first challenge was finding a piece of music. After flipping through my CD collection, I decided on two selections from Dead Can Dance’s “Labyrinth.” The first one starts out slow, languid, full of chanting, and the second one picks up with drum beats. Together, the two of them were only three minutes long, which I figured was perfect for a debut solo. At least I wouldn’t be up there very long.

Some of my bellydancing classmates, all three sizes smaller than me, admitted they wouldn’t even dare to bare their bellies for our group dance. They seemed to admire me for my nerve, my bravery.

How little they knew. Underneath it all, I was still the chronic introvert who’d hidden behind a book through most of grade school. I still saw myself as the pasty, chubby loner I’d been so long ago. But I’d learned that the way to become the charming, outgoing person I wished to be, was simply to act like I was. Kind of like forcing yourself to smile until you actually feel happy.

It was all about attitude. But it was also about getting the moves down, so I spent two weeks practicing in front of a video camera, refining my performance. One of the most amazing experiences of these practice sessions was discovering I really did look good doing these moves. For someone who’s criticized nearly every photo taken of herself in the past 10 years, here I was watching myself, bare-bellied, undulating and executing hip rolls, and I actually liked what I saw.

So I wasn’t really nervous when the time came. When the music started, I glided onto the floor with a smile. All my fear dropped away, as I saw a room full of people smiling at me, intent on my every move. Inside, I felt that joyful sensuality, that mysterious charm of the bellydancer. I called up that Goddess of Dance, and she shone out of me. I undulated my arms in snakelike movements, let my hips join in. I was a snake charmer; a goddess in sequins, gold coins and satin.

When it was over, the room erupted with applause, cheering and whistling. I couldn’t stop smiling. I posed dramatically, and swept out of the room in a swirl of chiffon.

Whenever I see the newest Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition, or Victoria’s Secret catalogue, I’ll keep that moment with me. I will walk through the valleys of the shadow of size zero, and be not filled with self-hatred. For deep inside, I know that she is with me. The Goddess of Dance will not forsake me. For she is me.

copyright 2001 by Alyce Wilson