Dancing myself Home

For a few months, I almost forgot about one of my favourite things in the world: dancing.

I remembered the other day when I pressed play on my 'Dance baby' playlist on Spotify I created a while ago. The music began, and the moment my hips started to undulate, I was there — in that soft, familiar place of flow, ease, and quiet joy. The kind of joy that lives deep in the body, in the breath, in the space where Eros gently stirs.

As a child, I used to dance like this. Completely free., completely alive. But somewhere along the way, I lost it, I forgot. I started trying to dance in ways that looked good. I tried to learn steps. I wanted to get it right. But it didn’t feel right — it felt forced, like I was trying to be someone else. I wasn't dancing for myself anymore.

Then one day, I remembered. I remembered how it once felt to let my body lead. So I asked gently, “Can we go back?” And slowly, sweetly… my body said yes.

I’ll never forget the moment it returned. Movement came like a wave — intuitive, playful, easy. I wasn’t trying. I wasn’t thinking. I was simply moving from inside. I couldn’t stop and I didn’t want to.

It’s hard to explain.... Maybe it’s like how some of my guests describe their experience during a tantric massage — something wordless, quiet, and deeply felt. We enter a place beyond language, where presence takes over and the body remembers what it means to be fully alive. I think is a place we go when we have the courage and we feel safe to let go, to surrender.

When I dance like this, my living room becomes my stage. I’m not performing for somebody else. I’m not trying, I’m just being. Music feels like warm honey pouring through me. Sometimes it feels like I’m being danced — like something loving and ancient is moving through me. I’m not in my living room anymore. I’m somewhere between here and the stars, and at the same time, more deeply home than ever.

Dancing, in these moments, feels like making love — not to someone else, but with myself, with the music, with the moment itself. It is sensual and sacred, gentle and wild, soft and powerful all at once.

Sometimes I wonder if this is what people feel in sacred dances, in spiritual ceremonies — that sense of connection, of being lifted and rooted all at once. Maybe that’s why so many traditions honour movement. Maybe they always knew.

If you ever feel the rhythm calling you — not the rhythm of perfection, but the rhythm of you — come dance. Join me to dance in my living room. Or maybe we’ll meet somewhere else entirely — that inner place where music moves like honey, and we’re all just arriving home.

Love,

Rosie x

GLADIATOR - Now We Are Free (Cover Benedetta Caretta)