My best friend told me she wants to write a novel about a 30 something year old trying to turn her life around before the big 40. Cool, I said. I'll write part 2 about a 37-year-old married mother of four trying to hold it all together for everyone.
Where to start though? I'm currently sat in front of my laptop, kids scattered all over the too small house, my husband is due home any minute and all I can think about is the pole dancing workshop he's promised to take me to in March next year. So, what’s so riveting about my story? Who knows? Keep reading, maybe we’ll both find out. Lol.
I'm struggling to write this because my usual form expression is poetry. No one wants to read poetry though. Sit down and learn the lyrics to a favourite song, yes. Read a poem? Insert eyeroll emoji.
You know, I started pole dancing about three years ago because I wanted something to replace the school run during the summer holidays. I found I missed the walk. So, I made some inquiries of the local pole dancing instructor who told me of course I’d be welcome and no, it didn’t matter about my size or the amount of clothes I wore or didn’t wear. It would still take me another two months to get a grip on myself and go to a class. I loved it and carried on going for the next two years. Then I fell pregnant with baby number 4. I carried on pole dancing until I was about six months gone, then I started to get *really* tired and had to stop going. But even then, I couldn’t wait to go back. I was so excited when I finally got the all clear to go back.
At first, it wasn’t too bad. I went back in January after the Christmas holiday and it was like I'd never been away. I knew I was heavier, and not as strong as I had been before my ‘maternity leave’ but no one seemed to have any expectations of me and my instructor was more than happy to let me take things at my own pace and build my strength back up slowly.
But it didn’t last. As the months went by and I found I wasn’t as strong as I wanted to be – as fast as I want to be - I got more and more frustrated with myself. I could do this before I left, why can't I do it now? Why?
“I’m so tired of being the fat loser who can’t do anything in class” I blurted out to someone in my class about a month ago when she innocently asked if I was ok. I'd been skipping classes, not going at all for weeks sometimes. I used to go to class at least twice a week. I wish I hadn’t said that. I never tell people how I’m feeling. I always say “I’m fine” and leave it at that. I barely know her, why inflict my feelings on her of all people? Stupid, stupid. I apologised later and she said it was ok, that she’d asked, I can always talk to her etc. I won’t.
Yesterday was a really bad day. I sat at my dining table and I sobbed. Then I cried during the school run. Luckily, by the time I got there the tears had largely stopped and no one appeared to notice. So that was good. On the way, however, I seriously considered contacting my instructor to tell her I wasn’t coming back. Ever. I was convinced I couldn’t do this anymore. I've been useless in classes; I haven’t been able to practice at home because I had to take my pole down to make room for the new baby and my self-esteem has hit an all-time low. Then we were home and the older kids were bickering amongst themselves (not unusual) and I couldn’t take it. So, I put on some shorts and I went to class. I was late and missed the warm up, but I was there.
Last night’s class went reasonably well. I felt strong. Climbing was hard, but climbing is always hard. All in all, I’m glad I went last night. Maybe I'll go again next week.
