On the Pole

I’ve been pole dancing on and off for several years, now. Until fairly recently, the “off” has far outweighed the “on,” and I would’ve considered myself no more than an advanced beginner. But in Spring of this year, I took it up with renewed vigor. And the payoff has been great. I’ve gained core and upper body strength but the kid in me is more delighted with the cool tricks I can do and the interesting bruises that show up the next day. My close friends know I engage in this bizarre weekly ritual, but I kept it a secret to my family. I mean, it’s not every mother’s dream to have her daughter on the pole, even if she’s not getting paid (but is actually paying) to do it. But a couple of months ago, I decided to “come out” to my mom. Rather than be concerned about the inappropriateness of the activity, she worried that I was purposely harming myself as evidenced by the bruises I so proudly displayed as evidence of my most recent engagement. It was pretty comical. 

Fast forward to today. I was sitting at a family gathering with a couple of aunts, a few (female) cousins, and my mother. This last decides to tell this group bedecked in Indian saris about her daughter’s fun new activity. Eyebrows were raised but not one was aghast. They were interested. They asked questions. They wanted to know more. Through the benefit of a handy dandy internet-enabled smartphone, I was able to show them what types of tricks I could do. They were, well, impressed. And I was just tickled at their reaction and the freedom I felt sharing something that really interested me without the fear of judgment. It was a good feeling to be authentic. But what really meant a lot was when my dear, sweet Indian mother told me she was proud of me for being able to “do what I do.” Wonders never cease.