When I was about six years old, I did a solo classical eisteddfod and Mum had choreographed my routine. But suddenly at the end, I added in a double pirouette. It's a complicated step that I had seen the older students do. Mum wouldn't have put that in my choreography at that young age. I probably shouldn't have tried, I could have seriously hurt myself but at that age you feel like you can do anything. I didn't know what I was doing but I remember being proud that I pulled it off. Mum always laughs about that moment now.

ANTONY HAMILTON: Australian choreographer, Chunky Move

Like every other kid in the '90s, me and my brother were inspired by the hip-hop craze. Mum bought us matching tracksuits and dad bought us a chalkboard so we could practise our best versions of train graffiti. We lived in a red brick suburban house in Carlingford, south-western Sydney and would watch breakdancing videos on rotation. In the garage, we would practise moves.

One day we called all the kids in the neighbourhood over to our backyard to see what we had put together. Each of us would come out, do some footwork, a back spin then jump and walk off.

We were pretty terrible but it was awesome fun. When you're young there's no filter to that expression. You feed off the experience, the playfulness, the messing around aspect of it. I feel lucky to have grown up in an environment where creativity and self-expression was so normalised.

Those early days were free from stress. There was certainly a youthful overconfidence and also ignorance. More just naivety around the whole thing.

ASH FLANDERS: Award-winning writer, storyteller for Dance Massive

I used to spend the summer holidays staying with my uncle on Phillip Island. When I was about seven years old, he let me go to a Christian youth camp party with all the older kids.

There was a girl there, I can't remember her name but I remember thinking she was really cool. The way a kid would think a girl who smokes is cool. I'd never been able to dance before and she taught me how to do the running man move.

There were about 150 people in the gym. Everyone was looking at me and it felt really good to be able to do this thing that I couldn't do moments before.That was my first version of performing publicly and it was like getting a hit of something. I suddenly belonged and felt like I was capable. It was intoxicating.

I was a kid in front of all these 16-year-olds and they were giving me special attention. For them, it was no big deal. For me, it was a very big deal.

HAYLEY McELHINNEY: Australian actress

My grandmother's small flat near the Weet-Bix factory in Fremantle was not set up for kids. There were no toys. I remember being happy to see her but the conversation was always very adult.

One day I saw a mop in the back courtyard. It was one of those long mops that looked as if it had long hair. I remember grabbing it and swivelling it with my wrist and her hair would move like long, beautiful hair.

I had a very strong imagination and the mop became my dance partner. We were dancing like we were in love. There were lots of grand gestures, lots of turning and a strong finish.

I had a real sense that I was performing, that I was in the spotlight when I was dancing with the mop. I guess that's why I ended up being a performer, I always had a sense that I loved the idea of being watched while I did something wonderful and romantic and beautiful.

There's a real pleasure in movement, in dancing and performing. Nothing has changed. I just get paid for it now.

LUCY GUERIN: Contemporary choreographer and dance company founder

The first time I performed in a dance piece I fell off the stage. I must have been about five years old. At the time we lived in rural South Australia in quite a remote place, Port Kenny, a town that consisted of only a pub and a general store.

It was some kind of Christmas performance in the town's community hall. There was a little stage that we were all on with our arms linked, rocking from side to side singing O Christmas Tree.

My mum said she was watching and then suddenly I wasn't there anymore. I'd stepped a little too far and fallen off the stage. I disappeared. There was this man on the side of the stage who picked me up and plodded me back in position. I always think it was good that he did that.

DENISE SCOTT: Australian comedian and participant on Dancing With the Stars

When I was six or seven years old, I faked an asthma attack so I could stay home from school.

Mum worked as a nurse at a nursing home across the road from our home in Greensborough so she let me stay at home alone. It was a humble weatherboard house on a dirt road with a big backyard and no fencing between the neighbours.

There was classical music playing on the radio and I danced to it in the kitchen for a couple of hours. In that moment I was picturing a huge audience. It was all about the fame, the glory.

It made me feel beautiful. And happy. I'd love to say it helped me breathe again but I was faking the asthma.

DANNY KATZ: writer and storyteller for Dance Massive

I avoided dancing my entire childhood. If the opportunity came up, I would hide.

Then I reached my year 10 disco and invited a girl named Sandra. Amazingly, she showed up but she brought along her boyfriend. After some time of hanging around, she eventually dragged me into the middle of the dance floor to give me what I guess was a pity dance.

I was wearing jeans that were a little too tight and a pair of expensive, shiny red leather boots with a slight heel. I felt uncomfortable and incredibly self-conscious. It was a terrible night right across the board.

So there I was in a school hall in Randwick. Sandra's dancing was fantastic. She was swinging around and grooving and moving from side to side, doing little Egyptian things with her head. I was shuffling back and forth thinking, I've got to put my Coke down at some stage. Where do my arms go? It all feels unnatural. I firmly believe dancing should only be done in private. It's like going to the toilet, you should do it in a booth somewhere with the door closed.

Dancing has never got any better for me. To this day, after a few drinks I'll have a good crack but sober, it's just a horrific, horrible, horrible idea.

WANI LE FRERE: Artist and poet, storyteller for Dance Massive

My earliest memory of dancing is with my grandmother. I was at her home in Bukavu (in the Democratic Republic of the Congo) and my aunt was making soup in the kitchen. It was a cement house with bright curtains that looked like kanga, the wraps African women wear around their waist. The house felt big at the time but when I went back years later, it was really small.

Some guests had just come over so my grandmother ushered me upstairs to her room with granddad. She had a little radio, music was playing. She came up to me and started joking with granddad. "Look how young and handsome my grandson is?" she said.

She swung me around the room. "Do you see how smooth he is?"

Then my granddad stood up, picked me up and pushed me to the side. She started blushing and they danced together.

RAINA PETERSON: dancer-choreographer, writer and theatre-maker, performer for Dance Massive

My mother is Indian, my father Anglo-Australian. I grew up in country Victoria and it was difficult being different from everybody.

My mother sought out the Indian community in Gippsland and we met for Diwali one year. There were religious speeches and ceremonies but all I remember is the dance.

I was wearing this shiny, satin green outfit that was embroidered with red sequins, in a classical Bollywood style. Back then, we didn't have access to Indian clothing shops so my Mum made the costume from materials she bought at Spotlight.

There's a video of that dance and I just look so happy. I remember having no fear. I had just been transformed into this magical creature and I was so comfortable in that role. I remember the sense of connection with the idea of being part of something big and beautiful, the beginning of starting to understand my place in things.

I felt disempowered in other areas of my life as a kid. Dance gave me a sense of power. When I am dancing, I feel powerful and free.

DALISA PIGRAM: Marrugeku co-founder, artist

When I was 18 years old, I spent time with the Kunwinjku people of Gunbalanya, exploring how to use dance to depict the Mimi spirit. It has a long, thin body and a cheeky attitude.

We stayed in a demountable shed in the centre of the community. People's houses were across the road and we would rehearse outside so they could watch what we were doing, how we were exploring the Mimi spirit.

The Kunwinjku elders were very generous with their knowledge and were willing to train us. We took country site visits, where we were learning stories from the Mimi. We had sessions in river beds, against rock escarpments, to build knowledge. The first significant moment with dance for me was not one particular moment, but rather when I realised the dance was a vehicle for carrying culture and stories.

How we can connect the old world with the new is my fascination with dance.