When Movement Is the Only Way Out
By Jarid Polite, Founder & Artistic Director of Melanin Mosaic Performance Ensemble
With April recognized as National Move More Month and May marking Mental Health Awareness Month, the timing of this reflection feels fitting. At Melanin Mosaic, we’ve long believed that movement and mental wellness go hand in hand. When our bodies are free to express, our minds often find room to breathe. And for many of us, that connection began long before we even had words for it.
Some of my happiest memories come from dancing in the backyard—music bumping through the speakers, the scent of BBQ in the air, and the grown folks telling stories like they were passing down history.
In communities like mine, movement has always spoken louder than words. We dance at weddings, at protests, in the street—and for marching artists like myself, we danced on the battlefield of competition. We played songs, executed elaborate forms in the grass, spun, tossed, and breathed in sync with a team—chasing a clean show while carrying the weight of everything we couldn’t say.
For many men—especially Black and Brown men—movement is often the only space where our emotions are allowed to live. And for some of us, like myself as a gay Black man, dance was also the freedom we craved to fully be ourselves—before we had the language or safety to say it out loud.
I didn’t know it growing up, but movement was saving me. It gave me something to focus on, something to feel through. When I didn’t have the words, I had the phrase. I had the form. I had the flag.
And now, through my work with Melanin Mosaic Performance Ensemble, I’ve seen how that power can become something greater: a tool for healing.
Movement Holds What We Don’t Say
There’s a silence many of us learned to wear early.
We didn’t always have the space to name our feelings. Vulnerability wasn’t modelled—it was mocked. Anger was acceptable, but sadness was a weakness. Fear had no place. Joy had to be earned. And softness? That was for someone else.
So we learned to hold it all in. And we got good at it.
But even when the mouth closes, the body keeps speaking. Through tension. Through posture. Through movement.
In color guard, we use choreography as conversation. We let the body tell the story that words
never could. The tension in a ripple. The ache in a reach. The power in a release. The snap of a catch. It all means something.
We’ve seen men, who’d never dare cry in public, finally exhale in the middle of a phrase. Not because someone asked them to talk—but because their body decided it was safe to feel.
But Not Broken: Movement as Memory, Testimony, and Truth
That’s the energy we are pouring into But Not Broken—a short film that uses dance, narration, and color guard to tell the truth about what many men are carrying.
It’s not a film about flawless technique or polished performance. It’s about release. It’s about the physical act of finally letting something go. Some of the men in this film had never shared their stories out loud—but in movement, they don't have to. Their bodies speak for them.
In But Not Broken, movement becomes memory. It becomes a form of testimony. It becomes truth. The kind we’ve been taught to avoid—but desperately need to confront.
Why It Matters
We talk a lot about the importance of safe spaces. For some of us, movement was the first one we ever had.
But Not Broken is just one example of what happens when we give men the permission to show up fully. To move with honesty. To set free what they’ve been holding in silence.
This isn’t just about the marching arts. It’s not just about dance. It’s about creating new possibilities for what healing can look like. It’s about expanding our understanding of strength— not as stoicism, but as self-awareness. As softness. As showing up anyway.
This work also lands at a meaningful time on the calendar. April encourages us to move more. May invites us to reflect on our mental health. Together, they remind us that movement isn’t just physical—it’s emotional, too. A step, a breath, a reach—it all matters.
At Melanin Mosaic, we’re not claiming to have the answers. But we do believe in the power of movement to reach the parts of us that words can’t. It’s never been just for the stage—it’s always been for the soul.
If that resonates with you, visit www.melaninmosaicpe.com to explore But Not Broken, support our work, or just sit with the story.
Because the work of healing isn’t always loud.
Sometimes, it’s a step. A breath. A phrase.
And the willingness to move—finally—for yourself.
So if you’ve ever struggled to find the words, let movement speak for you. Let your body tell the truth you’ve been holding. Whether you dance in a studio, on a stage, or in your living room— know that it’s valid. That it’s healing. That it’s enough.
Now, as an adult, you can still catch me bopping around like no one’s watching—because it feels good. Because it keeps me connected to the joy I found in those backyard grooves and the healing I discovered through performance.
You don’t have to say it perfectly.
You just have to move through it.
Let dance be your voice.
Let movement speak louder than words.
About the Author
Jarid Polite is a multi-hyphenated creative and the Founder & Artistic Director of Melanin Mosaic Performance Ensemble. A lifelong member of the marching arts community, his work blends performance, film, and advocacy to uplift voices from the African diaspora, BIPOC, and LGBTQ+ communities. Through Melanin Mosaic, he creates space for honest storytelling and collective healing—on the field, on stage, and beyond.
