The first time I started dancing at home was a happy accident. I’d just had a terse conversation with an ex, and my body was reacting in its usual way: racing heart, quivering breath and trembling fingers. I needed to calm down. Looking around for quick fixes in my flat – my bed, some stale chocolate digestives and a packet of cigarettes – I settled on the kitchen radio, which had been humming faintly in the background all morning.

Tuned to BBC Radio 6 Music, it was playing a disco track I didn’t recognise. But the beat was steady and intermingled with the sounds of tambourines, synths and drums. I turned up the volume, and then my body was moving: limbs swinging, feet tapping, hips wiggling. I continued into the next song, leaning into the feeling and becoming more animated to the sounds of another upbeat 70s track, imagining myself on a crowded, sweaty dancefloor. It was all very silly. But by the third song, my anxiety had melted away. I was smiling. And I felt more like myself again.

To be clear, I cannot dance. Not even a little bit. It’s a running joke among my friends, who have been ruthlessly mocking my moves for years. Unfortunately, the derision is deserved: I have no rhythm and my hips are so wooden that they cannot help but tell this very sad truth. Still, I’ve always enjoyed dancing and have persisted at weddings, festivals and parties. And since that day in my kitchen, I’ve realised it also calms me down.

For me, anxiety has always manifested as an excess of energy. Depending on my underlying mood and where I’m at in my menstrual cycle, it can be triggered by anything, from a misunderstanding with a friend or an unnerving work email, to a lost lipstick or a “seen” and ignored Instagram DM. I have other crutches, but they either aren’t as healthy (sugar and cigarettes) or as accessible; exercise is great, but not if I have already worked out that day, and I would obviously never ask anyone for sex on demand.

Dancing, though, is always available. And I’ve noticed that it works by taking my anxious energy and using it as fuel for movement. With the help of good music, that same frenetic feeling that makes my body shake with nerves can easily be transferred into a terrible dance move. If anything, the worse it is, the better. Because then I start laughing at myself.

I’m not sure where the impulse first came from. But as a devoted Grey’s Anatomy fan, I suspect it has something to do with the show’s famous “dance it out” tradition, which saw the two female leads, Meredith and Cristina, regularly dancing together during times of turmoil.

There are rules, though. First, the song needs to be unfamiliar. Otherwise, there will inevitably be an association or memory attached to it that will make it impossible to get out of my head. For obvious reasons, it also helps to be alone; I have yet to find a “dance it out” partner. For even more obvious reasons, it tends to work best at home. But wherever it happens, my little dancing trick has changed the game, because whenever those anxious feelings arise I know how to handle them. Or at the very least, how to get myself smiling again, which is a far more powerful tool than you might think.

And if you happen to see a short brunette wriggling awkwardly on the tube, please do leave her in peace. She’s just dancing it out.