Pride and Joy
Why my child's dance recital was a really big deal this year.
Hello friends,
I'm feeling pretty emotional this evening -- what else is new? -- but I wanted to share a special moment of joy from earlier today. Because it's something we still don't have enough of these days.
As many of you know, my daughter is neurodivergent: She's autistic, has ADHD, and is twice-exceptional. Life for our little family has been, in a word, challenging.
My daughter has been taking dance classes since she was in preschool. It's clear she enjoys dance, but due to financial and scheduling constraints (she needs numerous support services after school), she hasn’t been able to take more than one dance class a year.
In full transparency, my husband and I weren’t sure how far she could go with dancing. Getting her to practice, focus, learn the routines, etc., was, in a word, difficult. (This is also one of the reasons why we hesitated to enroll her in additional classes.)
Over the years, we watched her perform in the year-end recitals, but she would usually be a step or two behind her fellow dancers. What we couldn’t ignore, though, was our daughter's growing FOMO as she watched her peers excel in their dance skills -- and bond over their multiple recital costumes.
About a year ago, I was feeling really vulnerable about my daughter’s participation in activities with predominantly neurotypical kids: In addition to worrying that she didn’t have much of a dancing future, one Mean Girl Mom rubbed salt in my growing wound: When I tried to enroll my daughter in the same Girl Scout troop as several of her friends, the troop leader pretty much told me my daughter wasn’t welcome.
So when I floated the idea of pulling my daughter out of the dance school to one of the owners, he blew me away with his answer:
“I think that would be a real shame.”
After I stopped sobbing, I took a hard look how lucky we were: Here was a dance community that accepted my daughter for who she was — and refused to "other" her.
Cut to today, June 1, 2025: My daughter just finished her end-of-the-year dance recital, and the difference between last year's performance and today's was, in a word, astonishing. She knew every step, had a big smile on her face, and enjoyed every moment she was onstage. For the first time, I had parents, teachers, and the dance studio's owners coming over to congratulate me on my daughter's improvement.
This level of growth was only possible because every single person involved with the dance studio -- from the owners to her teacher to the supportive high school senior designated as my daughter's helper -- is tremendously caring, tolerant, and most importantly, inclusive.
Everyone affiliated with the studio sees my daughter as just a fellow dancer, not as a problem to be solved. They recognized that she needed extra help — and they provided it, with no questions asked!
(While this varies with everyone, in my daughter’s case, it meant she needed a “big sister” to redirect her, assist with executive functioning, and work with her one-on-one when learning the routines. This incredible high schooler was by my daughter’s side for every class, dress rehearsal, and even at the recital.)
This is how we need to treat all people on the spectrum. Period. Because I can tell you right now that not everybody does this.
When my daughter was in kindergarten, we enrolled her in gymnastics -- and it was a complete disaster. In fairness, we didn't have any diagnoses yet, but the coaches’ behavior was still abominable. Instead of working with us, the coaches constantly singled my daughter out as a safety issue, chastising her for not listening, paying attention, or following the rules (read: not-yet-diagnosed ADHD). They even had the audacity to ask if she was in school (WTAF?). Eventually, I withdrew her from gymnastics out of sheer exasperation, and unlike the dance studio owner, the coaches didn’t even try to change my mind. Ew and good riddance.
Even though the dance season is over, my daughter and I cannot wait for fall classes to resume. Now that I know she is still a welcome, supported dancer at this studio, to quote the owner, I think it would be "a real shame" if she didn't enroll in more than one class next year. (She has been asking for this for months, btw.)
I cried to the owner today because I'm just so proud of my daughter, and I'm beyond grateful for how everyone at this dance studio has helped to nurture her over the years.
I hope you'll celebrate with me today -- on this first day of Pride Month -- by listening to “You Can’t Stop the Beat” from Hairspray. Not only was it my daughter’s recital number, but it’s the perfect song for celebrating tolerance, inclusivity, and unbridled joy.
As always, I thank you for reading,
—Sarene