The Dance I Never Had: What Wicked Taught Me About Belonging
There is a scene in Wicked that undoes me every single time.
It isn't the soaring vocals, though nothing can quite compare to them. It isn't the magic. It isn't even "Defying Gravity."
It's the dance.
The moment when Elphaba stands alone in the ballroom, ridiculed and misunderstood, trying to hide the hurt behind awkward movements. Everyone is watching. Some are laughing. Some are whispering. She is completely alone.
Then Glinda does something extraordinary. She steps forward. She doesn't fix Elphaba's life. She doesn't erase the cruelty. She simply chooses to stand beside the person everyone else has decided doesn't belong.
Every single time I watch that scene, I cry. Because growing up, I desperately wished someone had stepped onto the dance floor for me.
Middle school and high school were some of the loneliest years of my life.
On the outside, I was just another student trying to fit in. On the inside, I was fighting battles no one knew existed.
I was surviving abuse at the hands of my first step father. Every morning I walked into school carrying secrets that felt far too heavy for a child to hold. Like so many survivors, I became incredibly good at pretending everything was fine. I smiled. I went to class. I did my work. But inside, I was longing for just one place where I could feel safe... where I could simply belong.
Like so many teenagers, I watched the popular groups from a distance, wishing I knew what it felt like to be effortlessly accepted.
That wasn't my reality.
Thankfully, I found a few incredible friends along the way. Those friendships became lifelines, and I am grateful for them every single day. They reminded me that genuine connection matters far more than popularity ever could. But even with those friendships, there was still a part of me that wondered why I never seemed to be chosen.
Dating terrified me.
Not because I didn't want love, but because I couldn't imagine anyone wanting someone who felt as broken as I did. Years of abuse had left me believing I was damaged beyond repair.
To make matters even more complicated, I was intentionally gaining weight. Somewhere deep inside, I believed that if I looked less appealing, I might be safer from my abuser. It was a survival strategy my younger self developed in an impossible situation.
Of course, I didn't understand any of that at the time. I only knew that I looked different. Meanwhile, it seemed like the girls who fit society's definition of beauty were the ones everyone noticed. They were the ones who got asked out. The ones everyone wanted.
I felt invisible.
Or worse... Unworthy.
One memory still lives vividly in my mind.
I finally worked up the courage to tell a boy that I liked him and hoped maybe we'd have a chance to go on a date. Instead of kindness, I was met with laughter. He laughed. His friends laughed.
Then one of the popular girls who also liked him looked at me and essentially asked why he would ever want someone like me. She told me to stay away from him.
Looking back now, I know they were just teenagers. But trauma has a way of turning moments into permanent echoes. That moment became one of those echoes.
For years afterward, it reinforced every lie abuse had already taught me:
You're not enough.
You're not lovable.
No one will ever choose you.
That's why the ballroom scene in Wicked feels so personal.
Elphaba isn't crying because she isn't popular. She's crying because she's been made to believe she doesn't deserve to belong. There's a profound difference.
Then Glinda quietly rewrites the entire room. Without saying a word, she chooses compassion over popularity. Connection over reputation. Humanity over conformity.
She dances. Not because it's easy. Because it's right. That single act tells Elphaba something survivors often spend years trying to believe:
You are worthy of standing beside.
I don't think many people realize how healing it can be to witness kindness represented so honestly on screen.
Sometimes the smallest acts become the biggest turning points in someone's life.
For me, acceptance didn't arrive until adulthood.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped chasing tables that didn't have a seat for me. I found friendships built on authenticity instead of popularity. I found people who loved me without asking me to become someone else first.
Most importantly...I learned to accept myself.
That may have been the hardest journey of all. Healing didn't erase what happened to me. It simply taught me that my worth had never been determined by the people who rejected me, or abused me, or laughed at me.
Their inability to see my value was never evidence that it wasn't there.
I think that's why Wicked resonates so deeply with so many people.
It's a story about outsiders. About misunderstood people. About those who've been judged before they've ever had the chance to be known.
Most of us have been Elphaba at some point. Standing awkwardly in a room where we feel completely alone. Wondering if anyone will ever step forward.
If you're reading this and you've ever felt like the outsider... I hope you know this:
There is nothing wrong with you because you didn't fit into spaces that weren't built to see your worth.
The right people won't ask you to shrink yourself. They won't ask you to become someone else. They won't laugh when you're brave enough to be vulnerable.
They'll step onto the dance floor beside you.
And if no one has done that for you yet... May you become that person for yourself. And someday, for someone else.
Because sometimes the most life-changing thing we can do isn't saying the perfect words.
Sometimes... It's simply choosing to dance beside the person standing alone.
🛡️ Survivor Support & Safety Awareness
Part of healing is also finding ways to feel safe again.
That's why I'm proud to be in collaboration with Hootie Personal Safety Alarms. 💜
As a survivor of childhood abuse and domestic violence, personal safety is incredibly important to me.
💜 For every 4 Hooties I sell, 1 is donated to a domestic violence shelter.
Visit gethootie.com and use code JANE for 10% off your order.
Because everyone deserves to feel safe.
💜 Continue the Journey
The Survivors’ Anthem Series is more than a collection of songs, it's a journey through survival, healing, and strength.
📖 Read Because of Jane
💜 Learn about The Jane Project
Comments