I choreographed my first dance when I was around 10. I still remember how amazing it felt to hear my name be announced during the class assembly: “Choreographed by Shrey” they said through the loudspeaker.
Since parents weren’t allowed to go backstage, I had to wait until I got home to give my mom the biggest hug and share my excitement with her. But as soon as I stepped through the front door, I was greeted with silence and told to sit down. Apparently, during the performance, someone had told my mom that my dancing was too feminine, that at school I stopped talking to my guy friends and was hanging out with the girls too much. She looked worried.
I didn’t understand what was ‘wrong’ with me or why it was so wrong, but because I was young, my mother’s words were like guidance to me. I began changing every feminine trait I had, from keeping my hand firm, no longer crossing my legs at the table, to marking and practicing my walk.
I remember how around that time I would borrow Barbie dolls from my cousin who lived next door. I also remember how my mother punished me when she found out.
I still kept the dolls but continued playing with them in secret, because I learned that it was ‘wrong’.
The day of the ‘pep-talk’ my mother told me that some family members were also noticing my deviant behavior. Then, she leaned in and in a hushed and warning voice said, “if you don’t stop acting like this, you’ll start liking boys.”
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