I almost didn’t go. But somewhere between learning the steps, trying to follow, and noticing everything happening inside me, I realized we bring so much more than our bodies onto the dance floor.

How dancing alone in my living room helped me reconnect with my body, rediscover joy, and inspired the song Living Room Ballroom.

I thought I was driving into the mountains to find a lake. Instead, I found a patch of wild daisies, a slower way of living, and a birthday that quietly changed something in me.

For a long time, I couldn't feel much of anything. Then one day the colour started coming back... along with every other emotion. This is a story about bone-deep exhaustion, kitchen sinks, popcorn, and discovering that maybe feeling everything isn't such a bad problem to have after all.

Most of us spend years hoping someone will ask, *"Will you go out with me?"* Last weekend, I realized I could answer that question for myself. What started as a ridiculously unglamorous road trip to activate a credit card turned into an unexpected date with sunshine, open highways, coffee, two new songs, and the quiet realization that maybe the best company I'd been looking for was already sitting in the driver's seat.

How much of your life have you spent worrying about what other people might think? A reflection on fear of judgment, self-expression, and learning to dance anyway.... even when the laundry still needs folding.

Butterflies. Memory. Hope. A reflection on being twitterpated ... and the people, possibilities, and moments that leave their fingerprints on our hearts.

A cracked dashboard. A prairie dirt road. A dance that waited fourteen years. A tribute to a father who couldn't resist a good song and the daughter who finally took the dance.

funny, tender reflection on social anxiety, overthinking, Dirty Dancing, and the strange journey from hugging a watermelon to questioning every social interaction you've ever had.

A humorous and heartfelt reflection on overwhelm, perimenopause, burnout, and finding a pair of socks in the oven. A story about mental overload, survival mode, healing, and learning gentleness through music, movement, and everyday absurdity.

A reflection on movement, visibility, body shame, healing, and learning to stop disappearing from my own life one small movement at a time.

A belt buckle, a memory, and a feeling that wouldn’t leave—this is about finding a way to move what your body’s been holding.

A poem written in my twenties, inspired by a fleeting but deeply intense connection, has found its way back to me years later. What once felt like a moment frozen in time began to move again—through sound, rhythm, and release. This piece explores how something brief can leave a lasting imprint, and what it takes to finally let it breathe, shift, and soften into something new.

A quiet reflection on shadow and light, presence over fixing, and what unfolds when we soften enough to dance with what we usually avoid.

A tender day of reconnection — a barefoot lunch date with my inner child, where pancakes, glitter trails, and golden fields became medicine

A tender reflection on grief, memory, and becoming. Through poetry and story, Anita Elliott explores what it means to grieve the selves we outlive, honor the voices of loved ones, and find beginnings within endings. A meditation on loss, resilience, and the quiet beauty of carrying both grief and gratitude.

To be seen or not to be seen — that’s been the quiet tug-of-war of my life. In this vulnerable reflection, author Anita Elliott shares her struggles with visibility, creative courage, and the tender journey of stepping out from behind the scenes with her new book The Deer, Dream.