My Relationship Was So Toxic, Dance Moms Felt Peaceful.

Caroline Huckeba

Aug 9

3 min read

I can’t stop watching Dance Moms.

My senior year of college was the end of my three-year, on-and-off, absolutely horrible relationship. Every time he left me, and he left me a lot, I would put on Dance Moms, cry, and ask my mom if she’d hug me. This happened enough that Abby Lee Miller started to feel like a family member.

It wasn’t even the breakups that got me. It was the thinking. He’d tell me he was “thinking.” Thinking about us. Thinking about life. Thinking about whether he wanted to be with me. Eventually, I became terrified of the word. Any time I could tell he was “thinking,” I’d get the shits.

I became so invested in the idea of him just being normal with me that I’d wait. I’d tell myself to relax. I’d give him space. I’d convince myself that when he came back everything would be okay. Until the next time he needed to think.

Every man I’ve ever dated has read my favorite book, Normal People, because of me. It’s practically part of the vetting process. This first horrible boyfriend read it and told me Connell and Marianne had a toxic relationship. Which may have been projection.

I loved Normal People because I wanted that kind of closeness. I wanted someone who knew me so well that silence wasn’t scary. I wanted to believe love could be quiet instead of confusing. I would’ve settled for even half of what Connell and Marianne had.

Instead, when my boyfriend went quiet, I could usually tell he was either thinking about absolutely nothing… …or leaving me. He was not Connell Waldron. Connell had his flaws, but he never gave Marianne day-long panic attacks while she hid in his closet waiting for him to decide if he still liked her.

A girl can dream.

Thankfully, every time reality came crashing down, Dance Moms was waiting. Abby screaming, “Did you learn nothing?” Kelly yelling, “Get your finger out of my face!” Dr Holly reminding everyone that Abby was “an evil, nasty woman.” Honey, I’m home.

There is something incredibly comforting about a show where the biggest crisis is whether Kendall gets a solo. Nobody was asking me for space. Nobody was “thinking.” Nobody was deciding whether they loved me. Someone was always throwing a chair.

To this day, I’ll see Nia Sioux post on Instagram and think, Our girl. I’ll see Maddie on a podcast and think, Look how far she’s come. Don’t even get me started on my little Kendall. The girls grew up.

Somehow, I did too.

Looking back, I don’t think Dance Moms got me through that relationship because it distracted me. I think it reminded me that chaos is much easier to watch than it is to live inside. Abby Lee Miller was predictable. My boyfriend wasn’t. I always knew Abby would yell. I never knew whether he’d call.

For three years I kept hoping he’d wake up and become the person I imagined he could be. Instead, every time he left, Abby was already waiting for me.

My mom would wrap me in a hug, I’d turn on the TV, and for forty-five minutes the only people I had to worry about were little girls in rhinestones. It’s funny what ends up carrying you through heartbreak.

And if you ask me today why I still watch it, I’ll tell you it’s because it’s funny. But I think some part of me is still that twenty-two-year-old girl on her mom’s couch, waiting for a text that never should have mattered as much as it did, finding comfort in hearing Abby Lee Miller scream about her recent lawsuit.