The first time I performed in a dance recital, I was seven years old, wearing an it-itched-so-bad sequin vest my mom stitched because we couldn’t afford the fancy costumes. I danced to a cha-cha, totally in love with the music, the sparkly stage, the thrill of being seen. But by the time I hit middle school, that boy who’d once popped his little hips on stage was long gone. Dancing turned into something “girly,” my moves became self-conscious, and the fear of embarrassing myself took center stage. My flair for rhythm retreated to family parties in our backyard in Hialeah, where I’d salsa with my aunties under string lights, safe from judgment.

But the thing is, I never stopped wanting to dance freely. And that “performance anxiety”—one part self-doubt, one part being way too aware of who's watching—followed me everywhere, not just on the dance floor. It followed me into relationships, into conversations with strangers, and especially into moments that required vulnerability. Dancing was just the metaphor for the bigger battle I’d been wrestling with: confidence.

Here’s how I fought that secret war—and (spoiler alert) broke free to twirl in public like nobody’s watching again.

The Shadow of the Side-Eye

The thing about confidence is, it’s fragile. It can feel like carrying around a Jenga tower, one false move from collapse. And for someone like me—shaped by Cuban virtuosity but also a quiet dread of disappointing—learning to trust myself felt like a job with way too many overtime hours.

In relationships, that fear became a whisper in my ear. “Should you really say that? What if they think you’re too much?” It was the same paralyzing second-guessing that clamped down when I thought about asking someone to dance at a wedding (casual bachata for two? Or sudden public humiliation?). Dating apps were worse—not because I wasn’t meeting anyone, but because I realized I was filtering how I presented myself. I wasn’t starting with the Raúl who writes stories for a living, devours croquetas like they’re vitamins, and lights up when Celia Cruz starts playing. I’d begin by hedging: only cracking jokes I knew were “safe,” downplaying the parts of me I loved most but feared others might find odd or over-the-top.

In short, it was: Please like me! But don’t look too hard!

The Moment You Realize It’s You, Not Them

Like any breakthrough moment, I didn't see mine coming. Last Christmas, at our family Nochebuena, the music started up—classic Celia, of course—while I sat poking around the ham’s edges and catching up with a cousin who’d flown in from Santa Clara. My mom appeared out of nowhere. “Ay, Raúl! Get up! Help me show your cousins some real Cuban dancing.”

Folks, my snowball of excuses started rolling real quick. “No, Ma, my knee kinda hurts.” “It’s just Celia—no big deal.” “I don’t think they feel like dancing…” But these excuses (and my mom knew it) were baloney. I wasn’t afraid I couldn’t dance. I was afraid I’d look silly doing it.

And then, as always, my mom cut through the noise: “Mijo. Stop thinking and just move.”

That night wasn’t choreographed or perfect—I stepped on her toes twice, and at one point, she gave me the same side-eye my abuela once shot the TV when a telenovela plotline got too ridiculous. But I laughed harder than I had in years. I was in love with the moment, in love with the freedom to do something “wrong” without the world stopping.

It hit me: I wasn’t going to rebuild any kind of authentic confidence by waiting on someone else’s approval. I had to get up, listen to the music, and risk making an idiot out of myself if I was ever going to feel whole.

Confidence Is Less About Them, More About You

I wish I could tell you I woke up the next morning suddenly brimming with swagger like I was Pitbull at the VMAs, but nah—that’s not how rediscovering confidence works. It’s quiet at first, more like testing the waters than diving off the deep end. But small steps change the game. Here’s what those baby steps taught me about life (and relationships).

1. Lose the Self-Editing

The worst thing I ever did to myself was lead with the least interesting parts of me because it felt “safe.” But life (and love!) doesn’t reward safe. Now, whether I’m meeting a date for coffee or just swapping jokes with my favorite barista, I let the weirder, truer parts of my personality peek out. Turns out, Cuban proverbs at random moments and bad salsa moves on a Monday afternoon aren’t deal breakers—they’re charm-builders. The right people will appreciate the you that doesn’t hold back.

2. Expect (and Laugh at) Your Awkward Moments

Confidence isn’t about never-wobbling on life’s tightrope. It’s about falling every now and then, but doing it like a sitcom star who pops back up with a quip. Forgot someone’s name on a date? Ask again. Wandered onto the wrong topic in conversation? Find a funny segue. Action builds courage. Nobody remembers perfection; they remember personality.

3. Get Comfortable with Looking Ridiculous

Whether it’s dancing in public, wearing a louder shirt than normal, or texting that person you like first, risk is where the good stuff lives. If you’re overthinking—or worse, scolding yourself for something like waving “too enthusiastically”—stop. You know how endearing it is when a dog trips over its own paws but keeps running? Yeah. That’s you—adorably human.

The Takeaway: You Can’t Fake a Good Dance Partner

This whole “secret battle” of mine? It’s not one I’ve completely won yet. Confidence isn’t some final destination; it’s a process, as constant and tricky as leavening dough in my family’s bakery back in Hialeah. Some days, it rises perfectly. Others, it sags into itself. But you gotta love even the sag-yielding days because they’re part of your humanity.

Whether you're on the dance floor shaking off rusty moves like me or just trying to work up the courage to tell someone you’re not a fan of their favorite Netflix show, remember this: The people worth keeping in your life are the ones who will love your imperfect cha-cha right alongside your smoothest salsa steps. To build that confidence, you’ve gotta take the lead first.

Trust me—the soundtrack to your life gets so much better once you stop worriedly checking if anyone’s watching. And if they are? Hand them the mic, and shout it with me: “Azúcar!”