The injury is not only to your body, it is to your soul as well.
I used to dance every day and then whenever I could, wherever I could. I was the epitome of “leave it all out on the floor”. The pole was my friend, my lover, my everything … I could release any emotion I had in the dark, velvety room with the music to fit my mood. I could dance to Janice Joplin, “take a little piece of my heart out, baby”, or Christina Aguilera “walk away”. I could throw all of my angst and my pain, and my joy into my free dance, leaving without a care in the world. All left out on the floor.
And then I got injured. It came on slowly. First a little bit of leg pain, then the hip, then the knee, you all know how it goes. One thing gets hurt and then your body compensates and something else hurts. I pushed through anyway, danced whenever I could, even if on the floor in my bedroom. Even sitting in a chair with bad hips, swiveling to the music of the moment.
Then one day I couldn’t dance anymore. I had no idea how much pain and anguish would sit in my body without a place to release it. My pole was gone, my safe space was gone, my community was gone and no place to release the emotion. Yes, of course, I found something to do – physical therapy, injections, massage, acupuncture, strengthening exercises, you name it. But there is no substitute for the ecstasy of the free dance. The moment at which you are complete. Whether it is tears of sadness or joy, the tears flow and stop, and you are free of them. They cannot eat you up, they are gone.
The injury was not only to my body, it was to my soul as well. I never give up the goal to dance again. I still listen to “Witchy Woman” and know my raven hair and ruby lips will dance again. I move whenever I can, as much as I can, and I wait for the day I can dance with my love again, my pole.