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Hey . . . it turns out I’m a woman after all!

Hey . . . it turns out I’m a woman after all!

Hey . . . it turns out I’m a woman after all!

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No disrespect to the male pole dancers of the world.  <3  You’re fantastic and I love watching you — but this  post is directed toward the ladies.

Have you ever forgotten how to be a woman? For some of us it happens amidst a sea of fellow commuters, a mountain of bills, the needs of family. For others it happens amidst some deep, internalized fear that being a woman is somehow less than. Some never forget or lose their woman-ness; they’re businesspeople, moms, and friends . . . but always, always, they carry themselves with a femininity that spawns admiration, and sometimes even a smidge of envy.

I allowed everyday life to take my woman-ness from me. I was so concerned with paying a mortgage, taking care of a dog, getting to work on time–you know the drill–that I turned into a woman-shaped robot.

Little did I know, when I signed up for a pole dancing class, that a huge catharsis waited for me on the other side of the pole. At my first class, I was so stiff. I tromped around the pole like a new colt. I was completely unaware of my body, of the curve of my hip, of my muscular legs, of the feminine power they held.

It took time, a lot of time, before I felt comfortable caressing myself or running fingers through my hair with even the tiniest hint of abandon. As these things started to feel natural, I noticed something about my non-pole-dancing self. My hips swayed when I walked. My shoulders were back and my chin up. I sometimes caught glimpses of myself in windows or mirrors, and what I saw was a vivacious, smiling woman.  Not a girl. More importantly, not a professional. Not a homeowner. Not a genderless robot commuting from home to work and back home without joy or grace. I had rediscovered myself as a woman, and it felt goooooood.

When I go to the pole studio I see smart, incredible women slinking and strutting and clapping shoes and swinging hips and flipping hair and coyly sliding hand across a breast, and it makes me positively giddy.

We, as women, are taking back our world.

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