But, I needed something in the here and now to liberate me from the pain of rejection and low self-esteem which is the unfortunate inevitability when your husband replaces you in bed with some other chick (or, chicks) and decides he’s satisfied living the rest of his life without you. The whole self-hatred thing is just part of the adultery/divorce package. I needed another escape. Something other than my new affinity for red wine. But never, NEVER in a million years did I think I’d find my refuge dancing around a pole in a pair of booty shorts and hooker heels. Don’t judge! What proper lady hasn’t had stripper fantasies? I needed to re-claim my sexy.
What I thought was just gonna be a temporary gig turned into a whole new career. It merged my love of dance, self-expression through movement and aerial arts in a way that had me addicted like a crack-whore feenin’ for her next fix. I finally discovered a healthy relationship; albeit with an inanimate object. The pole in its stoic metal fierceness represented stability, strength and loyalty. I could be vulnerable, weak, and imperfect and it would always support me. We could harmonize our beauties together; my curves juxtaposed against its linear structure. My undulating movement against its stillness. My emotion in contrast to its inexpressiveness. Pole dancing helped rescue my self-esteem and confidence proving that, at the ripe old age of 38, I could find new passions. And, just because I was a 38-year old divorcee in the making didn’t mean I couldn’t be hot, sexy and desirable.
My newfound career as a pole dancer forced me to discover a healthy new relationship with myself; retrieving my power, femininity and sensuality. When I’m on the pole, I’m not the distraught, hopeless victim of rejection, adultery and a failed marriage. I am the pure, authentic, uninhibited version of myself... with no shame.