Updated 10/22/2025
Every so often, a student walks into class with quiet shoulders and eyes that never quite settle. You can’t always name it, but you can feel it. Maybe they’ve survived something heavy. Maybe they’re just trying to find a way to breathe again. For some, belly dance becomes that first safe rhythm their body has felt in years.
Post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD, isn’t just about nightmares or panic attacks. It’s the body stuck on high alert, even when the danger is long gone. I’ve seen students struggle with focus, sudden tears, or an invisible wall that rises mid-drill. It’s not laziness or resistance—it’s protection. The body’s defense system doesn’t switch off just because someone signs up for a dance class.
As teachers, we’re not therapists, but we are caretakers of space. The way we handle corrections, touch, group energy, and even our jokes can shape how safe a student feels. A little awareness can turn an ordinary dance class into a quiet kind of healing ground.
Here’s what that looks like in practice:
- Ask before touching. Every single time. Even if you’ve adjusted that same student last week. Consent can shift from day to day.
- Mind your words. I’ve slipped up before—playfully telling a class to “shake what your mama gave you” and seeing one student freeze. I learned quickly that language matters. Stick to neutral, anatomical phrasing until you know your group’s comfort level.
- Soften corrections. Some students take feedback like a blow, no matter how kindly it’s delivered. If that happens often with the same person, pull them aside privately later. “I want to make sure my feedback lands in a way that feels okay for you—how can I adjust?” Small conversations like that build trust faster than praise ever could.
- Keep the group energy clean. Nothing poisons a class faster than gossip or exclusion. For someone with trauma, that kind of tension can mirror old pain. Step in early, model direct communication, and remind everyone that the studio is a shared safe space.
- Costume flexibility. Performance costuming can be a minefield for students who have body shame or triggers. If you can, offer modest variations—longer sleeves, higher necklines, softer fabrics. What matters is that they still feel like part of the troupe, not set apart.
- Stay in your lane. You’re a dance teacher, not a therapist. Students aren’t coming to unpack their trauma; they’re coming to move. What you can do is teach in a way that keeps their bodies feeling safe and their spirits engaged. That alone helps more than you might realize.
I had one student who never looked in the mirror for the first six weeks. She’d practice with her head turned slightly away, eyes on the floor. I didn’t push. I just kept the space calm, counted softly, and gave her wins where I could. One evening during a slow drum solo, she lifted her chin and caught her own reflection for the first time. Just a moment—but the way her breath caught told me everything. Sometimes that’s the dance: reclaiming the simple act of seeing yourself again.
The quiet gift of safe movement
The thing about trauma is that it lives in the body, and so does healing. Every time a survivor steps into your class, counts beats, moves hips, and breathes through a phrase, they’re teaching their body that movement can be safe again. You don’t need to “fix” them. You just need to keep the lights warm, the rhythm steady, and the room kind.
The music, the breath, the focus—these are anchors. When a student finds them, even for a minute, that’s progress. So keep the space gentle. Keep your eyes kind. You might never know the story behind someone’s hesitation, but you’ll feel the shift when their shoulders drop and their dance starts to breathe. That’s when you know your class has done something bigger than technique—it’s given someone their body back.