Confidence Isn't Choreographed

When I was younger, I was really shy. I didn't talk much, and it showed in the way I danced, too. I was careful with my movements, rarely used facial expressions, and often gravitated toward the back of the room during class. I didn't want to draw attention to myself and worried about what other people thought.

It's strange to think about that now because dance has become one of the places where I feel most comfortable being myself. Somewhere along the way, I stopped worrying so much about how I looked and started focusing more on what I could do. Looking back, I think much of that change came from repeatedly discovering that I was capable of more than I thought.

One of the biggest ways dance has built my confidence is by helping me get better. There have been so many movements that I couldn't do when I first started learning them. But every time I am able to do something that once felt impossible, I feel a little more confident in what I'm capable of. It isn't necessarily the movement itself that matters. It's the feeling of realizing, “I couldn't do this before, and now I can.”

These moments are known as mastery experiences, or successful experiences that show us we are capable of overcoming a challenge. They are one of the strongest ways we develop self-efficacy, our belief that we can successfully handle a particular challenge. When I finally learn a difficult movement, I don't just gain a new skill. I gain evidence that I can improve through practice. That evidence can change what I expect from myself the next time I face something difficult.

My teachers have also played a huge role in building my confidence. They constantly push me to improve while reminding me that I am capable and don't need to worry so much about what other people think. Their encouragement connects to verbal persuasion, another way self-efficacy can develop. When someone we trust repeatedly tells us that we can succeed, that encouragement can influence the way we see our own abilities. Over time, hearing “you can do this” helped change my self-talk. I started replacing “I can't do that” with “I'll figure it out.”

That change in self-talk has affected how I respond when something is difficult. If I assume I can't do something, I am more likely to doubt myself or give up. If I believe I can improve, I am more likely to keep trying. Dance hasn't made difficult things easy, but it has taught me to see struggling as part of the process rather than proof that I am incapable.

Even watching other dancers has influenced the way I think about what I'm capable of. Seeing someone else learn a difficult movement or perform confidently can make something that once seemed impossible feel more achievable. This is known as a vicarious experience. When we see someone we can relate to succeed, it can strengthen our belief that we might be capable of doing something similar. Sometimes watching another dancer accomplish something is enough to make me think, “Maybe I could do that too.”

As these experiences have accumulated, I think they have changed more than just my confidence. They have changed my self-concept, or the way I understand and view myself. I was no longer only the shy girl who stayed toward the back of the room. I started seeing myself as someone who could learn difficult things, perform in front of people, and step outside of my comfort zone. My abilities changed, but so did the way I saw myself.

The confidence I've developed through dance hasn't stayed in the studio. I've become more comfortable meeting people, trying new things, speaking up, and putting myself in situations that might have made me uncomfortable when I was younger. This can be thought of as a transfer of self-efficacy, where confidence developed through one area can influence how we approach challenges in other areas. Dance taught me that struggling with something doesn't necessarily mean I can't do it. Sometimes it means I need more practice, a different approach, or simply more time.

Sometimes I think about how surprised my younger self would be to see where I am now. I never imagined that I would become the dancer I am today. I'm proud of how far I've come, but that pride doesn't make me want to stop improving. If anything, it makes me want to work harder and see what else I can do.

Dance has taught me that confidence isn't something you can simply choreograph. It develops gradually through experiences: you struggle with something, practice it, receive encouragement, watch others succeed, and eventually realize you are capable of more than you thought. I used to think confidence meant not caring what anyone thought of me. Now, I think it's more about self-efficacy, trusting myself enough to try even when I'm not sure I'll succeed. Dance has given me countless opportunities to practice that, and I think I'll carry that lesson far beyond the studio.