An aerialist on listening to your body's signals

In the circus, flying confidently through the air requires consistent communication with your fellow performers. Check out how aerialist and educator Adie Delaney teaches her students about trust and safety on the trapeze -- and provides helpful lessons for navigating everyday life on the ground.

I'm quite comfortable sitting here.

Don't get me wrong,

my heart's beating so loud
I'm surprised you can't hear it.

There's a lightness in my head,

and my hand is a little sweaty.

Luckily, I'm not only familiar
with these sensations --

I enjoy them.

(Music)

Over my career as an aerialist,

I've learned to listen
to those signs from my body,

whose most important job
is to keep me alive.

This visceral sensation of fear
can be part of the fun.

Why do you think we go on roller coasters,

watch horror movies

or in my case, fly through the air?

But it will only be fun
if we have choice in those moments.

Those who enjoy horror movies do so
when they know they can look away.

When I swing through the air

to take the hands of a partner
high up in a circus tent,

ultimately, I have a choice of releasing
if I trust that person to catch me.

Listening to these signs
is an incredibly important life skill,

and not just for adrenaline
junkies like me.

If we don't know how to listen
and respond to our warning signs of fear,

we risk being overwhelmed

by a fight, flight
or freeze stress response.

When teaching circus,

I see my students
feel these sensations every day,

and when they do,

there's a unique opportunity
to talk about them,

to acknowledge and trust those feelings,

including how to say no
when something doesn't feel right.

This is a great foundation

for communication
about our bodies elsewhere

that isn't scary or awkward.

It's normal and expected.

Because the truth is I'm not just
teaching circus skills;

I'm teaching consent.

Alongside teaching circus,

I have the privilege of working
with hundreds of young people each year

in my role as a sexual harm
prevention educator.

I hear their stories firsthand,

and know from statistics and experience

that the majority of survivors
know their abuser

and teenagers experience high rates
of intimate partner violence,

that is, from someone they're dating.

Young people want to know
how to talk to each other about intimacy.

The more I help teenagers
understand sexual consent,

the more I realize learning aerial
can help us navigate life on the ground.

So let me explain what I mean
by teaching consent through circus.

Let's imagine it's your first
time on a trapeze.

Usual instruction might go something like,

"OK, you're going to hook
your legs over the bar,

climb your hands up the ropes,

pull yourself to sit

and don't let go."

This approach is driving something forward
without fully checking in with the person

and is focused on what I want from them.

I'm telling them how to move
their body and when,

regardless of their comfort or fear.

This often results in terrified beginners
who never come back.

Meanwhile, the way
I now talk to my students

gives a lot more care to the person,

ensuring they're fully informed,

ready

and part of the conversation.

Adie Delaney: How do you feel about it?
Student: Really good.

AD: I feel like you could probably do it.
Want to have a go?

Student: OK.
AD: That's it, yes.

AD: Yes, but the inside of your foot.

That's it, yes.

Nice. How does that feel?

Student: Perfect.
AD: Perfect, good.

That's it, I'm going to put
my hand on your back --

There you go.

I'm going to hold onto your leg,
then I'm going to put my hand here.

Do you feel safe
to put your hand on the bar?

I got you.

How's that for you, OK?

Student: Yeah?

AD: Look, I can stop you going
forwards and backwards, see?

Woo, I got you!

(Voice-over) AD: This type of language,

like "How are you feeling?

Are you OK with my hand here?"

helps circus performers succeed.

I believe it also reduces
the risk of accidents,

as a result of my students trusting

and being able to act
on what they're feeling

at any given moment.

This specificity is required later in life

if and when someone wants sexual intimacy,

but because it's not a normal
part of our interactions,

it can feel so awkward,

and people might think
it's easier to say less.

But saying less can lead to ambiguity,

problems and potentially, abuse.

There is of course no specific
script for the language of consent.

The tone and words will be unique to you.

It's just a slight reframing
of our lexicon to inject choice

any time we're interacting
with others' bodies intimately

or otherwise.

For example,

using "I" when I'm talking
about what I'm feeling,

and questions more than statements
when it involves the other person.

When discussing intimacy,

check-ins like "Does that feel good?

Do you like that?"

in addition to letting your partner
know what you need, want and like,

helps us have experiences
we remember fondly

and have no regrets about.

We need to broaden
our understanding of consent

and start thinking of it as a verb,

not a noun.

To consent is an active,
ongoing agreement,

not a checkbox to be ticked.

When talking to young people,

we have an opportunity to show them

what it's like to communicate
with care for another person,

checking in and respecting them
as the authority on what they're feeling.

If we normalize consent everywhere,

by the time someone is ready
for a sexual experience,

they will know that they're allowed
to ask questions,

stop at any time,

and most importantly,

to enjoy themselves.

Children are our future,

and they will learn to give care
in the ways we give care.

Sexual consent doesn't
have to be a mood killer

or "the talk" either.

Like circus, it can be joyful,
fun and exciting.

Our intimate experiences
should not only be safe,

but as thrilling
as flying through the air.

Thank you.