It takes a village.

A reflection on movement, belonging, and shared experience.

Over the last few months, I’ve been working on a project that asked me to wear two hats: one as project manager, curating and overseeing drama workshops in Newtown and Brecon for people with communication difficulties and the other as a movement facilitator, leading the Brecon-based movement sessions.

To be honest, I didn’t expect the movement sessions to go as they did. I worried that my practice had become too rooted in early years work, that I was maybe in my "dance less, manage more" era. That perhaps I should be stepping back to make space for someone with a fresh postgraduate glow and under-30s energy. I worried that my movement offer would feel tired or even, at worst, patronising.

The sessions themselves were short, just three weeks of 1.5-hour gatherings, breaks included. It didn’t feel like enough time. And yet, in many ways, it was all the time we needed.

There’s a lot of talk in arts initiatives about enabling creativity, giving voice to the voiceless, and being participant-led. And yes, all of that applies here. But more than anything, what made this project feel meaningful was simple: people. People coming together in a space that was as equitable, inclusive, and friendly as we could make it. Sharing an experience. Moving together.

Yes, we danced. But we also played. We stretched. We explored with scarves and hands and eyes and breath. We did our own thing. And what I’d forgotten, before the sessions, when I was doubting my fit or questioning whether I was offering the “right” kind of experience, is that the movement itself might only be 20% of what matters. The other 80%? That’s where the heart lies: in the trust, the ease, the atmosphere, the connection. That’s what makes people feel safe to share, to move, to be.

And when it works, there’s magic. There’s nostalgia. There’s laughter. There's that game with the giant balloon we were all weirdly amazing at. There’s a moment in a supermarket weeks later when a song comes on and someone smiles, remembering how we danced. There’s something to tell a friend, or a stranger. A new kind of confidence. A sense of "I might try that again."

“It takes a village” is one of my favourite sayings. It conjures images of care, co-creation, shared responsibility. And this experience has reminded me of that deeply. It takes a village to make a village, one built on thought, on kindness, on inclusivity. That kind of village supports its individuals until, slowly, those individuals become the village. And so it goes. Circular. Ongoing. Interwoven.

Cue Circle of Life on my next movement playlist.