I do something terrifying at least once a week, sometimes two or three times.
Do you?
If you're a pole dancer like I am, which doesn't mean an aerialist or a crazy Chinese pole trickster or a national champ or an instructor or the class daredevil - just... a dancer... you probably do something that scares you too.
Pole pushes me, in directions I never pushed myself before.
Day One scared me. My very first class was absolutely earth-shattering. "Move your hands along your body," my instructor said. "Lift your hips and take them in a big circle." I didn't do that kind of sexy shit even in the bedroom, let alone a class with a dozen other women. I didn't know how to move my hips. I didn't own lingerie. I didn't wear lipstick. I didn't wear crazy stripper heels. I was terrified. What if I looked like an idiot? What if I wasn't sexy? What if I flat out couldn't make my body do that?
Six months in I was still freaking out. I still didn't feel as sexy as my classmates looked, but I could fake it well enough to shut up my inner pessimist, at least during class. But some of those spins felt like I would fly right off the pole. I still felt uneasy inverting and I couldn't complete a butterfly without butterflies in my stomach. The floor always seemed too far away.
At a year, I caught myself eyeing the ground in aerial transitions, worrying if the next thing I might see would be stars. My skin never felt sticky enough. "Can you spot me?" I asked classmates and instructors anytime I tried something new. "Where's the crash mat?" More than once I told an instructor flat-out NO. I was sure half of what they tried to teach me was physically impossible.
Two and a half years later, I scare myself as often I can. Now that feeling is an old friend. I remember that fear tells me I'm doing something on the edge of my emotional, mental or physical abilities. It's time to really pay attention. I'm about to master something new. I can almost always count on fear to be followed by triumph. And even when it's followed by failure, a new bruise or even tears, I can be sure that I just learned something. Even if it's just to try again.
Recently I had a discussion with a fellow instructor in one of her classes, as we watched her students work through an entirely new combo. "We scare ourselves all the time," she said, looking around. "Who else does this?"
Sure, there are tons of jobs and hobbies that bring out the thrill-seekers, but a lot of us at the pole studio are 9-to-5-ers, "regular people." We're students, parents, retail employees, consultants, artists, business owners. For a lot of us, fear outside of pole is a negative influence. We're afraid of losing our jobs, afraid we can't pay the bills, afraid our kids won't get into the right school, afraid of crashing the car or not getting that client. Outside the studio, fear weighs us down.
Pole is the best kind of terrifying.
We're afraid to push ourselves to be emotionally open with other people, especially other women. But the pole studio is a safe place full of friends, who will forgive you for coming in a little bit bitchy, because they need a good slow stretch to de-stress too. They will pull your shirt back over your nipple when it pops out without judging you or freaking out. They'll laugh with you about hairstyles gone wrong and cellulite and bikini waxes. We are a community.
We're afraid our bodies won't hold up when we ask them for a little more than usual. But there's always an instructor or even a friend willing to spot you. There's always someone with the same bruise, someone who can tell you how they overcame the excruciating pain of that new move. We deal with pain every single class! How much of your life have you spent being afraid of pain? That military saying, "pain is weakness leaving your body" - polers can certainly share a laugh about the truth in that! Pain is getting used to a new grip in a strange (and sensitive!) place. We laugh... and we move on.
We're afraid of falling off the pole. Here's a fear that never goes away. From day one going forward, there's never a class I'm not afraid of falling on my face. But as I advanced, I was better at using the pole. I was more comfortable with it as a dance partner. I know where and how to grip. Now when I'm afraid of falling, I take stock of my situation. Are my hands sweating too much? Do I need to ask for a spot? Can I really hold myself up in this position? Should I try this another time when my body is less exhausted?
Fear tells me to stop and check myself. If everything is in order, I know that I'm simply afraid of failure. And damn it, that won't stop me anymore.
