Some thoughts on how Stopgap Dance Company has woven through my life for over twenty years - guiding me through identity, creativity, motherhood, grief, and renewal, and shaping my understanding of what inclusive dance can truly be...
With Stopgap Dance Company preparing to present Lived Fiction at Arts Depot on Thursday, 20 November 2025, I’ve found myself thinking about the part this company has played in my life. The work feels like a landmark for inclusive dance: access woven through sound, visual language and neurodivergent perspectives, not as afterthoughts, but as fundamental threads in the choreography. It has a clarity and boldness that feels like a glimpse of what the future of dance could be.
Stopgap’s Winter Platform on 2 December continues this thread, bringing together a year of community projects in a celebration of creativity, inclusion and artistry.
When Everything Changed
My journey with Stopgap began in the early 2000s, when Laura Jones and Chris Parvia performed at the Old Town Hall in Hemel Hempstead. I had recently become a full-time wheelchair user due to generalised dystonia and was still learning how to understand movement in my changed body.
Watching Laura dance was transformative. Her fluidity, strength and precision - and the fact that we shared a similar story of becoming disabled after training as non-disabled dancers - spoke directly to something in me I didn’t yet know how to express.
In that moment, I realised I was still a dancer. My creative potential hadn’t gone anywhere; it had simply shifted shape.
Formative Encounters
Around the same time, I came across Amici Dance Theatre. The combination of these two encounters shaped so much of how I now understand dance, my body, my teaching and my choreography. Even in those early days, Stopgap’s rigour, storytelling and the depth of connection between dancers stood out. Those qualities remain at the heart of the company today.
Motherhood, Creativity and a Three-Year Film
[Image caption: Two women are dancing in wheelchairs in front of a brightly painted graffiti wall. The overall scene feels vibrant, dynamic, and expressive, blending dance, street culture, and art. One dancer wears a red outfit and has long brown hair - Laura. The other - Suzie - wears turquoise and has long blonde hair.]
Years later, just as I became pregnant with my first son, Arty, I was invited to dance a duet called 'A Part' with Laura, choreographed by Abi Mortimer of Lila Dance. What began as a touring piece eventually became a film when it became clear that pregnancy - and later newborn life - would make touring impossible.
We filmed over nearly three years. Life kept unfolding around the work: births (mine and Abi’s), pregnancies, global upheavals, even Brexit found its way into the narrative. Abi is one of the most articulate, story-driven choreographers I’ve worked with, and also one of the funniest people I know. The time spent with her and Laura - navigating studio life, motherhood, politics, exhaustion and laughter - remains one of the most cherished periods of my career.
Grief and the Slow Return
In 2019, everything fell apart. My beautiful baby boy, Noah, died at two weeks old.
He was born with Hyperplastic Left Heart Syndrome and a complex genetic condition that meant his life would always be painfully short. Just a few months later, my mum - gentle, bright, and endlessly wise - died suddenly from cancer.
The grief was devastating. I couldn’t dance or teach; I couldn’t inhabit my own body. Everything felt numb and far away.
Gradually, through the patience of colleagues and friends, I began to find my way back to creative work. I realised that continuing to make, teach and collaborate allowed me to honour Noah and my mum - a way of keeping their light in motion. I hope both of them would be proud of the courage it took to return.
Stepping Into Leadership
My next chapter with Stopgap began when Sho Shibata invited me to apply for the role of Co-Chair, working alongside the remarkable Jane Hackett and following the brilliant, influential disabled leader and inclusion advocate, Simon Minty. The imposter syndrome arrived immediately and loudly.
Despite shaking all the way through the interview, I was offered the role. I decided the best approach was simply to show up, listen, support and be useful. And from there, something unexpected emerged: I realised I could offer more than lived experience. I could mentor, hold space, encourage, and help people feel seen and valued. Those muscles had always been there - they’d just been quiet under the weight of grief.
Around the same time, I became an inclusion and diversity governor at our local school - another space where I initially doubted my place, but where I found my voice carried weight.
A Relationship Spanning Twenty Years
Stopgap has been part of my life for more than two decades - present at moments of identity, hope, motherhood, loss and rebuilding. They’ve been a mirror, a catalyst, a creative family, and a reminder that dance is not about bodies performing but about people connecting.
As they bring Lived Fiction to the stage, it feels like a full-circle moment. Stopgap is not just making dance; they are shaping an artistic landscape where all bodies, minds and lived experiences are central to the work.
And I am deeply proud to be part of that story.