Walking towards my dance studio recently a guy walking by called out “Don’t get too good at that.”
I looked at him, shook my head, and walked into the studio with a confused look on my face. My teacher looked at me inquisitively.
“Some guy just told me to not get too good at this” I said. “What does that even mean?”
The other dancers and I, who all happened to be female, started laughing, shaking our heads, and trading stories about the comments we’ve received when we tell others we pole dance. Every dancer in the studio had a story about being judged by someone else, typically by a man, an everyday occurrence in some industries as described in this post by Sam Polk.
Let me take a moment to clarify something: Pole dancers are not strippers. What some may do to make money isn’t a concern within the four walls of the dance studio. We are and will always be dancers. We are a strong, unique, beautiful and supportive community of dancers committed to being stronger, getting more flexible and pushing our dance moves to the next level. We learn how to move slowly and gracefully like ballet dancers, and fast and with emphasis like samba dancers. Now that we have that foundation, I can share my story.
Eight years ago I was living in LA without much focus or direction and a terribly broken heart. A friend of mine had this crazy idea to try a pole dancing class, and she was desperately searching for someone just as crazy as she was to try it out. She found me.
We walked into the studio with a mixture of fear and excitement. Class ran for two hours and was split into two sections. First was a warm-up, featuring yoga inspired movements in a sequential flow, all done with your eyes closed. Then we tried a pole move or two. There were no mirrors in the studio, as the emphasis was on movement and not on how you looked. You were encouraged to move however your body wanted to move. You were also encouraged to trace your body, to massage your hands or feet, to feel your shoulders and your thighs. Your body was not a thing to hide from ― it was a thing to be understood and appreciated.
I left that class in tears. I wasn’t sure what I had experienced, and I knew I had to come back. I had to have more. I was addicted to the dance, to the community. I had found a room where I could move without judgement, a place where I was encouraged to be sexy and confident. And it was all for me and me alone. There was no one to judge me or make a comment. I wasn’t seeking validation from a man or woman on how I looked. Through pole dancing I was getting an opportunity to truly accept my body, my sexuality, my femininity.
Accepting my body was an essential step in healing my broken heart. I would guess that at some point each and every person, male or female, has struggled which comparing themselves to others, or being told they look different, causing them to question their own body. I still remember my first serious boyfriend telling me my arms were flabby. It was one comment, a moment in time, but I still struggle to wear tank tops because of it. And at the time of this first pole class, my most recent ex-boyfriend became an ex-boyfriend in part because we weren’t on the same page about our sex life. Each rejection began to takes it toll. Most of the time I felt desperate for attention, and started to think that because I wasn’t getting attention from him, it meant that I wasn’t good enough, thin enough, pretty enough, strong enough - you name it, I wasn’t enough.
Becoming a pole dancer changed the way I think about myself, and how I think about other women. When I dance I ask so much of my body, and I learn so much about it, like which shoulder is more flexible, how exactly to stretch my obliques, and where to place the pole in my elbow so as to not leave a bruise. As I twist and turn my body into new poses I feel beautiful. I feel strong. I feel sexy. Now almost seven years after that first class, I can feel my confidence start to subside if I haven’t been in the studio in a few weeks. Dance makes me feel like I got this, like I can do this. And I needed to feel that way about myself before I could enter into a relationship again, because relying on someone else to give me confidence and to make me feel sexy puts too much pressure on a relationship. Those emotions need to generate from within me, first and always.
Through dance I also truly see how strong women are, as President Obama so eloquently wrote in this post, and how supportive we women can be towards each other. In class I try moves and fail. I slip out of things or cannot quite stick something each and every class. And when I do, there is another student telling me how she/he does it, or making a suggestion on something I could change to be successful in the move. She may even offer to spot me so I could try something more complicated with someone directly by my side. I’ve tried quite a few studios over the years and I’ve seen women truly support and encourage each other every time.
So, when I was told by a man to “not get too good at that”, it only made me want to get better. I want to be confident and sexy, and I want to support and encourage all women. If I get too good at these things, it doesn’t make me a stripper, which I’m guessing is what he was implying. It makes me a confident, sexy and supportive woman.
Pole dancing has taught me the importance of loving yourself as you are, which sounds easy but takes effort. I’m not always perfect, and I can be just as critical about my body as anyone else. Through dance those thoughts are less frequent and my appreciation and love for myself has grown tenfold. It has also shown me what women are capable of with a little support. I guarantee there is a woman in your life today that needs a little nudge to continue on her path, a little encouragement and support, a little tender loving care. So do just that. Encourage them, support them, and tell them they can be anything. And yes that includes sexy, attractive, confident. It also includes smart, loyal, and kind. It also includes being President. #imwithher