"Show me your friends, and I'll tell you who you are." - Kathleen's Story (Part 3)

Struggle #3 – Blemishes

My skin has many blemishes of all kinds. Some of them don’t bother me, like the handful of chicken pox scars left over from when I was little or the silvery stretch marks zigzag over my hips and the tops of my thighs—they used to bother me, back when they were angry red and people, upon seeing them, would ask if I’d been scratched, but they really don’t any more.

 My stretch marks stopped bothering me a long time ago.

But some of the blemishes do bother me. Like the cellulite on my thighs that’s been there as long as I can remember, or the acne that still constantly mars my skin at 25.

In my last post I discussed my struggles with my legs, but the one thing I didn’t mention is cellulite. To be honest, I think I’d still hate it if it were on any other part of my body—in fact, while I quite like my bum, I can guarantee that I hate the cellulite there—but the fact that it sits heavy on thighs that I already don’t love, well, that just makes me less inclined to ignore it. I hate the lumpy unevenness of it, the way it puckers and dimples my skin. Most of the time I find it easy enough to ignore, but I know I sometimes make concessions to it, avoiding certain cuts of shorts, or the one pole in class that I know is lit at an angle that highlights every lump and bump.

I’m uncomfortable with the visible unevenness of my thighs, even without the help of really unflattering light.

The worst part about cellulite is not really what it looks like at all, though. It’s the fact that it feels like it brands me somehow. I know that neither fitness nor youth are guarantees against cellulite, but it is hard not to feel that its residence on my thighs brands me as being out of shape and as not having the body expected of a twenty-something: that it somehow marks my body as being less perfect than it is meant to be given my age.

Acne, on the other hand—which shows up on my face, but is worst on my chest, shoulders, and back—makes me feel like a teenager. It feels like something I am meant to have outgrown by now, and I dislike that in many ways it marks the state of my life on my skin. In particular, it is obvious from the state of my skin when I am going through a period of stress or unhappiness.

I know lots of people would hardly consider this acne at all, but I’m incredibly self-conscious about it!

Inevitably, the more red welts that appear, the more stressed I become and the less self-confident I feel, to the point where, on occasion, I've avoided wearing the outfits that usually make me feel the best because I know I’m not going to feel as good as I’d like to in them. I try not to let my occasional discomfort over any part of my body—be it my belly, my thighs, or my acne—keep me from doing or wearing the things I want, and while I certainly don’t always succeed, I like to think I’m making progress and letting these things hold me back less than they once did.

Success #3 – Friends

Did you know that obesity is considered to be “socially contagious”? This is because we typically adopt the habits—good and bad—of those around us, so whether your friends love eating fast food or whether they’re gym rats (or both), you’re likely to pick up at least some of their habits.

For me this has certainly been true. I’m not saying to ditch the friend with the love of fries (I am that friend) if you’re trying to lose weight, but for me, at least, having a group of people who have habits I admire, who can do the things I want to learn to do, or who share my love of something has been huge. Those are the people who encourage me constantly, who help me push myself, and who inspire me to try new things in all aspects of my life, and so those people have been indispensable in helping me to become comfortable and confident in myself.

I've been lucky enough to have multiple groups of amazing people who fill this role in my life, and I am especially lucky that those who I initially knew only at the gym have now become people I call friends. Now, I am constantly motivated to go to pole class, not only because I love it, but also because there is accountability, and, even more than that, because there is a social aspect that I miss when I am not there.

Chatting out after Saturday pole class—this happens almost every week, and I love it. (Pic credit: @Brassvixens Instagram!)

When I am in class, this group supports me, believes in me, helps me, and cheers me on when I accomplish something new—and still manages to make me feel good about myself when I am frustrated at not landing that new move. 

In addition to that, these are people who, simply by being their adventurous and fun-loving selves, have given me so many opportunities to do and try things that I might not have otherwise—from going to high tea to like joining an axe-throwing league and playing archery tag. Things like axe throwing and archery tag may or may not be things I ultimately excel at, but for someone who has always been fairly reserved and nervous about trying new things, it is a huge accomplishment to be trying at all.

Sadly I have thus far failed to get a picture with the lovely ladies who are in the league with me, so here’s an action shot instead!

So maybe obesity is contagious, but there are so many other things that are too, and I've found that surrounding myself with amazing people, well, it might not necessarily make me amazing by association, but it certainly helps.

No thigh gap? Some problems. - Part 2 of Kathleen's Self-Love Journey

Struggle #2 – Legs


My legs and I have always had a bit of a rocky relationship. I must have been in middle school, probably no older than 11 or 12, when I began actively hating them. I refused to wear shorts or skirts that hit higher than mid-calf, thinking my legs too chunky and unsightly to be acceptable. My mom told me my calves were shapely, but I just called them fat. It took me a number of years—and a few hot summers of suffering through overheating—before I gave in, eventually moving to knee-length styles, and eventually to shorts that hit mid-thigh. In university the skirts got shorter and tighter, but were worn only on nights out and accompanied by sky-high heels and a strong dose of discomfort.

Even now, I still don’t love my legs. I still think my calves are too chunky and my thighs too jiggly. I hate that I’m knock-kneed in an obvious way. I don’t care about thigh gaps one way or the other, but I hate how much my thighs chafe, and I still feel uncomfortable with the way they squish out when I sit while wearing shorts.

Thigh squish—ack! I can’t believe I’m willingly putting this picture online!

But worse than that, I still sometimes resent my legs. I don’t resent them for their stockiness, not directly anyway, but I do resent how inconvenient they can be. It’s difficult to find jeans—especially my favoured skinny jeans—that fit properly around my calves without constricting, and it’s nearly impossible to find boots that come even to mid-calf, and even then they usually need to have laces in order to fit. Not to mention the fact that my jeans are more likely to have to be replaced because the inner thigh has worn out than for any other reason.


But on the other hand, I like wearing shorts, and I love short, swishy summer dresses—I even wear them with flats without really thinking anything of it, even though I know they’re not as flattering. When I do find skinny jeans that fit, I wear them constantly, and often find myself looking in the mirror thinking my legs look good. And, as I’ve said before, I love what my legs let me do; I may not love the way my soft inner thigh smooshes out during certain pole moves, but if that’s the trade-off for having the grip to stick leg hangs, pikes, and Supermans, I guess I can live with that.

Thigh grip is necessary for the Superman. Plus, being able to do this makes me feel like a superhero!

All in all, though my legs are still a sticking point when it comes to loving every detail of myself, I don’t actually hate them the way I once did. I still cite my thighs as my least favourite body part, but I’m not sure it’s really true, and maybe it is, at the very least, time that I start giving my legs a little bit more credit.



Success # 2 – Goals and Motivation


I’ve never been very good at making goals. I like results and I like success, but actually setting long-term goals and taking specific steps to meet them—especially when results don't happen immediately—well, I don’t really excel at that. At least, not when getting to that end point is the only motivation. For me, figuring that out has made a world of difference, because making goals and failing to accomplish them kind of sucks, and it's certainly never made me feel good about myself.


If I look at myself back in high school, or even in university, my goal with working out was always just to lose weight. No matter how much I wanted to be skinny (note: being skinny, as such, is no longer a goal of mine—being happy and healthy in my body is!), I could never find the motivation to actually hit that goal because results wouldn't happen immediately, and so it would seem like I wasn't getting anywhere, and eventually I'd simply give up. And then, inevitably, I'd feel worse than before, hating myself and my body for the inability to follow through or to change.


These days, though vanity certainly plays a role, health is a bigger factor, and the reality is that other things have mostly taken over. As I mentioned in my last post, when I started pole dancing, the primary goal was to try something new and to get myself out of the house, since I’d begun to feel like my life was stagnating. When I took up pole again after moving to Toronto, the goal was largely the same: it was something I already knew that I liked, and it gave me a reason to wake up and to leave the apartment. Now, pole is a motivator all its own.

For a while I’d begun to plateau—I was unable to learn new moves without gaining strength—and so when there was an opportunity to start hitting GoodLife with coworkers over lunch, it was easy to say yes, knowing that it would help me gain the necessary strength to improve. Don't get me wrong, it hasn't magically made me keen to spend an hour lifting weights; I still struggle to motivate myself some days (or weeks, or months), but when the goal is to improve my ability to do something that I love, it's a lot easier to give up that hour of reading BuzzFeed in favour of spending time at the gym.
So, sure, weight loss is still a motivating factor, but it’s secondary to a lot of things that are more fun and that are, quite honestly, better for my mental health and sense of self.

Part of my fitness goals list—in no particular order.

If you look at my list of goals, it’s largely pole moves. Some are far off goals, ones I may be working towards for years to come, and some are ones that I could get next week or next month if I just keep working at them. Every time I accomplish one of those moves—or even feel myself get that next step closer—I feel successful and I feel strong, and that's what keeps me moving forward. And really, that is what reminds me of how amazing my body is and of what it can do, and, much more than losing weight, that's what makes me feel confident in my own body.

The Jade Split is still on my goal list, because my version is far from perfect—but it still feels pretty amazing!

"Worry about loving yourself instead of loving the idea of other people loving you." - Kathleen's Story Part 1

I met Kathleen last year during one of my first pole transitions classes. I kinda sucked, she definitely didn't. I admired her fearlessness and confidence on the pole, and I looked forward to the day that I could exude the same. I asked for volunteers for a body positive charity project I am currently putting together and Kathleen eagerly stepped up. I was thrilled to have her and even more excited when she agreed to do a series of blog posts about her self-love journey. I relate to her first post and I hope some of you will too. Many thanks to Kathleen for sharing this side of herself with us.

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"Worry about loving yourself instead of loving the idea of other people loving you." - Kathleen's Story Part 1

Body image and self-esteem are funny things. It’s odd that it’s possible to love the big picture—to love yourself—but to still have parts of yourself that you’re uncomfortable with, or in some case even things that you hate. For me, it’s been a long process even to get to the point of loving myself in a broader sense.  I’ve always been seen as a little odd.  I’ve struggled with my weight for as long as I can remember, and whether I like it or not, my sense of self has been strongly impacted by these things. In school, I was made fun of for my weight. In middle and high school, I often was the biggest girl in my group of friends, relegated to shopping at stores targeted at grown women rather than teenage girls. I was demoralized by my lack of athleticism and inability to keep up with friends, classmates, and the expectations of gym class. For a long time, these things resulted in an intensely negative body image.

Me in high school (after my senior prom—hence the fancy hair and necklace with sweats!)

Things have changed a lot since then, and though I’ve learned to love myself fiercely—to own my oddness, and to appreciate my body for what it does for me and what it allows me to do—like most people, I still have a laundry list of things that I’m self-conscious about. Over the next few weeks, I’ll be writing a series of posts, each looking at one thing about my body that I still struggle to love and one thing that has contributed to my positive self-image—whether it’s a part of my body I’m particularly proud of or an activity that has helped me learn to love myself. I hope that by sharing some part of this constant journey, reconciling these disparate halves will become just a little bit easier. 

Struggle #1 – The Paunch

I’m going to start with one of the areas that most commonly causes insecurity: the belly. For me, it’s the lower tummy paunch in particular that I am self-conscious of, and that I do my best to keep contained under jeans (no super low rise here!) and spandex-laden workout clothes.

The dreaded paunch is visible from all angles

Even in pole class, where I’m generally comfortable in the booty shorts and sports bras that are standard fare, I often find myself looking in the mirror and tugging at the waistband of my shorts, trying to position it just so in order to flatten out and hide as much evidence of the paunch as possible, even though much of the rest of my body is on display.

I’ve done sit-ups and crunches of all sorts, and have made my abs sore more times than I can count in an effort to flatten my stomach (and yes, I know you can’t target fat loss that way, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t tried­) and obviously it has never succeeded the way I’d wanted it to. Though I have lost some of the belly I once had, I still dream of having that perfectly flat stomach that has been idealized in movies and magazines. I still stare in the mirror, sucking in my stomach and poking at pudge that I find there, uncomfortable with the idea of what other people think of my stomach, even though I now realize that most people probably do not notice or care.

Even then, I find my stomach hard to come to terms with. It’s easier to find benefits for the size of other parts of my body: my sizeable butt looks fantastic in jeans, and the extra weight on my thighs helps with the grip necessary to land many pole moves. But my stomach still mostly feels like unnecessary weight, just hanging out there and disrupting the line of my shirt or spilling over the waistband of my pants, and I haven’t quite figured out how to love it yet, though I hold out hope that one day I will.

Success #1 – Exercise

I know, I know, exercise is an obvious choice, but it has made a huge difference in my life and in how I look at myself. Exercise has not come easily to me. In high school, I hated gym class, and I’ve always struggled to find physical activities that I enjoy, though I’ve tried everything from yoga to softball, and martial arts to dance. In part, my lack of engagement has always been fear of judgement or failure, but it was also a matter of finding what inspires me. In my case, that’s pole dancing.

I feel most at home in my body when upside down.

I first tried pole on a whim—I’d moved home again after university and was unemployed and bored, looking for something new to try. I signed up for a 6 week session of beginner pole dancing, and even though I struggled with many of the moves even in those basic classes, I fell in love with it almost instantly.

These days I pole dance about three days a week, and on days when I don’t go to pole, I often do yoga with my roommate or go to GoodLife with coworkers. For someone who so long struggled to find the motivation to work out at all, it is a strange twist that somewhere along the way, going to the gym has become a routine and a refuge in many ways. I become restless when I go too many days without working out, I find that dancing it out in pole class or working up a sweat on an elliptical helps burn off frustration, and after working out I feel stronger and more in tune with my body.

I once thought that losing weight would be what made me love my body, and I’m not going to lie and say that the weight loss and overall toning that has happened as a result of exercise hasn’t helped my body image, because it undoubtedly has. It has helped me feel more comfortable in my body, and allowed me to feel less like I stand out only due to my size, which I often felt in high school. But the reality is that it is the other effects of exercise that I have found to make the most difference in my body image: exercise has helped me to realize my strengths—quite literally—and given me opportunities to work on my weaknesses and to overcome long-held fears about failure and not being able to keep up. It is these things, much more than weight loss, that have helped me to appreciate what my body can do and to keep pushing myself to improve.

"A mother holds her child's hand for a moment and their heart for a lifetime.": Meet the greatest woman I know- My Mumsie.

Mumsie and I, somewhere in Scotland or the Soviet Union. 

Some of you may be wondering why I chose to celebrate mothers in the month of November; after all, Mothers' Day is in May.Well, the reason lies in the picture above. Her name is Dr. Maxine Patricia Parris-Aaron, born November 20th, 1958.


Mumsie chilling at Canada's Wonderland a couple of years ago.

Those of you who are shocked that I would make her exact date of birth public have probably never met me mother. If you had, you'd know she is one of those women who knows that her value as a person, as a woman, isn't dependent on her age. She owns her age. She is proud of it. The same way she is proud of all her struggles and all her achievements. The fact that she doesn't look like she's fifty-six probably helps a bit too :).


Me and Mumsie when I was a wee thing.

There are people that say working mother destroy the home or that a woman can't be an adequate mother or a successful career woman if she pursues both endeavours simultaneously. They argue that the two are mutually exclusive. These people have also clearly never met my mother. Growing up I was always proud of my mother's success outside the home. She is a well-respected veterinarian and expert on agricultural health and development. Much of what she does is absolute gibberish to me, but what she represented for me was the idea that women could be smart and authoritative role models. I never doubted that women could achieve the same sort of success in their careers that men enjoyed because I lived with a shining example of female excellence. I was also privy at an early age to the fact that as woman I would have to work harder and fight more to get the kind of success and respect I desired and, hopefully, deserved. It is a lesson that is reinforced everyday in places like the comic bookstore in which I work, where my opinion and expertise are constantly questioned because I have a vagina instead of a penis. And though I often grow frustrated with the need to prove myself over and over again, I am always reminded that my mother has to do the same in a much more demanding job and for a lot longer than I've been restraining myself from punching chauvinistic pigs, insisting that they need to speak to a man, in the face.


Monique and Mumsie, and some random chick who just popped into the picture, in Chinatown, Toronto.

I also learnt when to speak up and when to be silent from my mother. There are times where standing up for yourself is vital and times when the right thing to do is to let something go, move on and find better. It was also my mother's refusal to give up on people, especially young people, that resulted in me growing up with a s**t-ton of foster sisters and brothers. My childhood taught me that everyone is my equal no matter who they are and where they come from.
I learnt to be responsible and accountable for my actions because my mother not only lead by example, but because she encouraged me to be. Mumsie traveled a lot for work when I hit my teen years and while she always left us in the care of an adult, she always impressed upon us that she expected us to be responsible for ourselves. She hardly bugged me about my homework because she trusted that I'd do what I needed to do to excel at school. She was there when I needed to be reminded that the occasional bad grade didn't define me or decide the parameters for my success in life. She was also there to celebrate every triumph.



Some of the young people from C-HLP, a youth development programme of which my mom is a big part.

My mom is involved in more extra-curricular and youth programme you can think of. She's known as 'Aunty Maxine' to half of the kids in Georgetown. Most of them turn to her for advice and help. If my mother had kept half the money she has donated to charitable causes over the year, she would actually be a multi-millionaire. But she has gotten richer dividends from investing in people, rather than stocks. My faith in people is a direct result of my mother's stubborn refusal to give up on humanity, even when some of her experiences could have understandably caused her to become a heartless and bitter person. It is such an inspiration to see how big her heart is and the difference it has made in so many lives.


Monique, Mumsie and I the night we won our respective categories in the Mother and Daughter Pageant.

My family has a very good reputation back home. Amongst the older generation, my mother's family name carries a certain respect. The minute people over fifty find out I'm a 'Parris', I am treated differently. I am regularly referred to as 'Malcolm Parris' granddaughter'. And while that is an honour, I feel more pride when I am called "Dr. Parris' daughter" (or "Dr. Aaron's daugther", my dad is a well-respected orthopaedic surgeon. I am the black (Arts) sheep of the family lol). Why? Because despite her insistence that my room is always too messy and her dislike of my tattoos and piercings, she is one of the best mothers I know. She has a crazy temper, that both Monique and I inherited. She is entirely too hard on herself and sometimes, on her children. But she is the first person to pull you back up when you've fallen down. To remind you that you have value when you can't see it. To offer you a hand when no one else will. She tells me every day how proud of me she is, how much she loves me, and how lucky she is to have me as a daughter. The truth is, I am lucky to have her for a mother. She has weathered a lot of disappointment and heartbreak in her lifetime and she is still one of warmest, funniest and most generous persons I know. If I grow up to be half the woman she is, the world will be a much better place.

"Love yourself for who you are, and forget about who you are not. - Cassie Parks": Michymi's Story

Michelle is one of those rare gorgeous and talented women whose presence doesn't intimidate. She is humble, a pleasure to be around and will always lift you up when you're down. I am in constant awe of her. Please take a minute to read and share her beautiful story. 

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"I recently read "The A-List" in your Summer 2010 issue. I've had past boyfriends who have never really commented on or made a big deal about how small my breasts are - they are probably a bit less than an A-cup. And I'm OK with my little boobs too. But I started seeing this guy who's into a more buxom figure, and he suggested I should look into implants in the future. I was pretty offended at the time, but I thought about it more and more and was almost convinced that I should someday enhance them. But after reading the article, I felt empowered to keep my original stance because I like my body the way it is. So thank you, Joanne [Farrell], for writing such a truthful piece. I hope it had the same effect on other women in my position. Oh, and he apologized for being insensitive, in case you were wondering."

I wrote this little letter (above) to Fashion magazine in 2010 and it was featured in the October issue. I was about to turn 21 at the time. How exciting to have something I wrote shared with thousands, if not millions, of women across Canada! I held onto this story for a very long time, and I still carry it with me as what some might call "emotional baggage". I'm not particularly fond of this memory, but it's a very important one. It was one of the first times I really felt confident in myself and trusted my own instincts. Not only that, but I realized that I should trust myself more often.

Whenever someone says, "Don't let it bother you" or "Just forget about it", it's always easier said than done. Things that others say, especially those you trust and care about, can really strike deep down in parts that you may not be aware of. The actual words he spoke were, "You'd be perfect if your boobs were a little bigger". When I heard them, we were sitting in a restaurant having lunch. I sat across the table trying to stay calm and feeling slightly offended, saddened, and embarrassed. He didn't immediately realize the impact of his words and only after a very quiet second half of lunch did he realize he'd done something wrong. I accepted his apology then and there. But those words had already burrowed down deep.

Fun times with pink polka dot fabric!

I spent the next few months with a changed perspective of myself. I looked in the mirror naked and that's all I saw -- if only my boobs were a little bigger, I'd be "perfect". I looked into it further and did research on the different methods, materials, procedures, and risks associated with breast implants. Of course, it's a very expensive procedure and I knew I'd be years away from being able to afford it. But maybe one day...

Luckily, I found Joanne Farrell's article instead. She told the story of her decision to enlarge her chest from a modest A-cup to a C-cup. She spoke of the long trial period of jelly bra inserts, the pain of surgery and recovery, and finally, and most truthfully, her regret. She decided on the implants in her 30s but now she was approaching her 50s and there was no denying the natural aging process. However, she still had these fake boobs in her chest and they were no longer congruent with the rest of her body. They looked completely unnatural and almost grotesque and she was unhappy. She had the option of keeping them, or having them surgically removed. Not only would the latter option cost money, follow up procedures to repair the stretched skin would cost even more money, more time, and mean enduring more pain during recovery. After reading all this, I was scared right back into believing that breast implants are not for me.

She ain't about that body hating life!

I started to look at my body differently again. I saw all the things I liked. There were still parts that I didn't like as much as other parts, but I was no longer clouded by someone else's ideals. I saw my body as it is and I felt powerful. More than ever before, it felt powerful to know that this body, with all of its bone, flesh, skin, and hair, belonged to me and I was in control of it. Not to say that I don't ever feel insecure at times; I'm only human. But the experience left me more confident in myself, and my choices and beliefs. So, I hold onto this unpleasant memory for the things that it taught me. I've learned not to take anyone's crap, and if someone has a problem with how you look, they can move along because ain't nobody got time fo' that. If there's anything to be said about it all, it's that you should trust yourself more often. You know yourself best and, more often than not, your instincts are right.

"You cannot teach a man anything, you can only help him find it in himself.- Galileo Galilei": Spotlight on Kori and Tia

This week you get to meet two of the instructors at Brass Vixens. Tia and Kori are two of the nicest, most supportive and gorgeous (inside and out) women that I know. In the beginning, they were two huge reasons that I kept coming back and were instrumental in building my confidence in my pole and myself. They will never know (well, they kinda do now) how much of an impact they've had on my life. I love them to bits and very touched by the stories below. 

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"The musician has the most brothers, and the dancer the most sisters- Alexandra Chauran": Kori's Story

There are many similarities between my story and those of the other women of Brass Vixens. Perhaps that's largely responsible for the wonderful camaraderie I experience!



At the time I discovered Brass Vixens, I was intent on finding an exciting and motivating way to get back into shape. I grew up dancing and received my formal education in the fine and performing arts. A chain of events led me to stop performing and turn my focus to art and shoe design. Needless to say, the lack of physical activity from long hours sitting at my desk drawing and designing, combined with my husband's culinary feats resulted in me becoming significantly out of shape! The prolonged absence of physical exertion and expression in my life also left me not a little depressed. Though I have never subscribed to one image of health and beauty, I no longer felt like myself.


Then, one fateful afternoon, walking along Queen Street West, I came upon the Brass Vixens sandwich board. They were offering a fantastic deal on drop in classes. I had been intrigued by pole dancing for some time so I convinced a friend to sign up with me. I was immediately addicted after my first class with Holly Weston! I had been seeking a fresh start and to find a physical discipline I hadn't experienced before and that would therefore carry no preconceived notions or the threat of comparison between my current and previous selves. Pole dancing was it!!

Sassy pole sit.

What kept me returning to Brass Vixens and pole dancing after that introductory class were the results I saw and felt in myself; not only physically but emotionally as well. I experienced a restored sense of confidence and possibility. My body remembered the joy and pleasure of dancing and physical challenge. I felt and continue to feel elated whenever I am pole dancing. The joy is in the journey.

Kori and her fellow instructors (l-r): Tia, Dawn and Kori.

Of course, a vital element in my dedication to Brass Vixens was and is the people; fellow students, staff and instructors. It is a vibrant, diverse, sincere and celebratory community. I have met so many talented, intelligent, capable, strong and inspiring women... and men too! I loved it so much I began working at the studios as an administrator! I wanted to contribute to something that came to mean so much to me and increased my joie de vivre!

First pole performance!

Now, as an instructor, it is an honour for me to be teaching students and hopefully providing them with the same affirming and quality experience I had. It is a privilege to witness their transformations and achievements and to share their joy and pride in all they accomplish. I've had many proud moments since joining the Brass Vixens family. As a student, it was completing my first class and then the first time I inverted. It took a lot of determination to get this booty up over my head!!
As an instructor, it is every time I see a student perfect a move they never imagined they would be able to do. The sparkle I see in their eyes at such a moment is beautiful and priceless. I'm profoundly grateful to share in these successes everyday. They encourage help keep me motivated on my own journey. None of us would be continuing to pole dance if it wasn't for our love of it and that's the common denominator and equalizer for the women of Brass Vixens.

Brass Vixens Float for WorldPride 2014 in Toronto. Kori's on it!

Truly, stopping to read that sandwich board and then having the nerve to attend classes was one of the best things I ever did! It changed my life and brought me into contact with many amazing people.

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"Dance is the hidden language of the soul- Martha Graham": Tia's Story

I wanted to start pole dancing years ago. I remember watching Jenyne Butterfly's pole routine to 'Dog Days are Over' (by Florence and the Machine) and thinking, "This is incredible!" I have been dancing for roughly 21 years and teaching for close to 11 years. Growing up in a competitive dance atmosphere had its ups and downs. I was never the "best" dancer and I was never shown favouritism. In fact, sometimes I felt like I was just never good enough. Well, I let people make me feel like I was just never good enough.

NYC Dance Summit a few years ago: 'I dance whenever I want, wherever I want'.

Dance has always been a huge part of my life. I am positive I was born dancing out of my mother's womb. I love performing and teaching. I believe that you can't live life without some kind of inspiration. When I'm dancing, whether it be in the studio or on a stage, everything else in life vanishes. It's just me and the music.

I joined Brass Vixens over a year ago because of the previously mentioned video. But I joined Brass Vixens well over a year after watching that. I was in a long term relationship and the man I was dating gave me an ultimatum- it was him or pole dancing. I remember being in that relationship and not being able to do or be who I wanted to be. I wasn't allowed to be sexy or show people that I was. Him, and a number of other people thought pole dancing was 'slutty'. I always saw it as an art. I believe being sexy is an art in itself. Safe to say, I grew up and found my self worth and realized that if I can't be in a relationship where someone supports what I love and takes me for who I am, then I would rather be single. Fortunately, I am now in a relationship with the most supportive man I have ever met.

Tia and Dawn!

I  have never been in a studio that is so positive, supportive and encouraging. I owe everything to Brass Vixens. Dawn, my teacher, mentor and friend has given me all the confidence I always pretended to have but really didn't. I would not be where I am today without her love, guidance and support. You will never know how much I love and respect you for all you do, Dawn!

I am so thankful that Shannon (the owner) and Dawn (teacher and boss lady) have given me the opportunity to start teaching there.

Tia and some of her students celebrating the success of the first Pole Performance Night featuring troupes of her students :).

I must say, as much as I love pole dancing, and dancing in general, what inspires me most are the students. Watching students progress technically makes me happy but watching their confidence grow and how strong they become emotionally means the world to me. I live to be inspired and inspire those around me. Knowing that I have inspired other women to be strong and confident really makes me feel like I am doing something right. I would be nothing but empty without the students I teach.

Pole dancing is my world right now. It is because of Brass Vixens that I am not afraid to be sexy. Even if I wanted to get down and dirty on the pole, so what? Dancing how you want to dance does not define who you are; though in my case, I feel that dancing in general is the definition of ME. It is an outlet of expression and expression is healthy. Expression is life. When I'm on the pole- dancing, spinning, climbing, inverting- I feel free.

Knowing I have built the physical strength to do what I am able to do now and knowing that I am capable of making people see the worth in themselves when I teach, well, I feel like a superhero.

I love Brass Vixens and all of the inspirational teachers and students I have met on this journey. 

"Self hate isn't okay at ANY size": Amanda's Story

Trigger warnings: mention of anorexia, low self-esteem and familial pressure. 

I've struggled my entire life to like how I look. I was a string bean growing up; everyone thought I had an eating disorder. Then overnight I sprouted into a hippy, curvy, big busted woman and I was looked at for other reasons. The average woman in the US is a size 12-14 so claiming that my size 7 was large to me seems a bit self-obsessed but, honestly, going from a size 2 to a 7 is a lot to a teenager. It is especially difficult when you are going through puberty and have been “fat shamed” your entire life by your mother; yes, even when I was a size 2. I was taught that in order to lose weight, or like yourself, you must not eat for a month and only live on SlimFast. Anorexia was a must in my family, talked about daily by my mother, and because my sister and I didn't fit the standard that was laid down, we bore the consequences.

 

My frustration only heightened when I hit high school and all these gorgeous popular girls were so much tinier than I was. I learned then that there WAS a fat and skinny and if you didn't conform to societal standard, you were fat. Shopping for clothes no longer seemed enjoyable and I didn't really care much about my appearance. And, then on top of it all, I was sexually assaulted my senior year which pushed me even further into my “I don’t care how I look” phase. It was difficult.

Fast forward to starting to date the man I now call my husband. He has ALWAYS called me beautiful. I started to come out of my shell and become interested in dressing nicely and putting more effort into how I looked. I gained a little more weight but he didn't care because he loved me for who I was, not who I could turn into. I felt like I was finally hitting my stride as an adult.

Then along came a girl just like my mother. My brother in law started to date a girl who, right out of the gate, I disliked. And I honestly didn’t figure out why until about three months into their relationship. She was anorexic and, without saying too much for fear of getting on a soap box, verbally abusive to all those around her, including my husband, brother in law, their parents, and myself. We fought especially hard most days because I had just cut off all contact from my family a few years prior and I really didn’t want to deal with all of it again. It was very frustrating to watch her starve herself and feel helpless about it. It was difficult for me to watch my brother in law, a quiet man and an introvert, cater to her anorexia. None of us really knew how to act. I put on more weight, I think, because I wanted to prove to her that weight didn’t make you who you were. I ended up feeling bad about myself and it was used as a weapon. One of the first things I ever heard her say about me was, “I didn't think your brother would be into chubby girls”. It was like I was right back in my parent’s household.

It was four years later in October 2013, when their marriage was imminent and I had enough of listening to insult after insult about my weight and my appearance, I snapped. June 2013 I had decided I was going to show everyone. I finally put my gym membership to use 3-4 days a week and started to follow my mother’s rules. I ate, but very small amounts. I measured myself every single day. It was also at this time that I finally owned up to my allergies. I’m lactose intolerant and suffer from celiac disease. I went from 142lbs in June to 105lbs in October. I wore a size zero for their wedding and finally felt triumphant.

But it didn’t change anything except my relationship with my husband. I was tired all the time and crabby. I hated eating because it was a way for me to gain weight. I still got made fun of. I felt like I was chasing a unicorn. So, in the new year I started lifting weights. And then I talked to a trainer. I started to transform my body. My husband encouraged it because he admitted he was getting incredibly concerned about my health. I regained 20lbs of healthy weight, mostly muscle. I was informed that the average woman should be between 20-22% body fat and I was at 13% at the beginning of the new year. I was at 14.5% when I got serious with the trainer. I can only imagine what I was at that past October. Each fraction of a percent was celebrated, but it also made me cringe. I felt like I was getting fat again but I kept with it anyway because it meant so much to my trainer and my husband.

From a photoshoot, a few weeks ago.

Currently I love my body, most days. Every curve is celebrated. It’s been an incredibly hard road and I still have problems. I can’t eat until I feel full. Days that I feel bloated are awful for me emotionally. Exercise is still difficult. I find myself looking for a change immediately and if there isn't one? Oh boy. But I eat the calories I’m supposed to, I stay away from foods that I’m allergic to, and I find comfort in myself(or a few gluten free cookies). I’ve begun to model and while that has put a lot of pressure on me emotionally to try and deal with the women who are far skinnier, I try to revel in the fact that I will fill out the clothing just a touch better than they can. 

My progress (l-r): June 2013, November 2013 and March 2014.

I read an article once where a woman who was obese and had lost a lot of weight tried to explain that no one really tells you about the pressures and expectations once you lose weight and it’s true for all sizes. I would never claim to have an eating disorder. I never starved myself calorie-wise and I never purged. I just became obsessed with the image that is flouted in magazines and on television. I wanted to be that person. And now I realize all I really have to be is myself. My body fat is now 16.9%. And it’s difficult writing this but I want everyone to know that you are not alone. You can be amazing  without having to conform to societal norms. So, understand that as I reveal my struggle. I am strong for speaking out about the events that have occurred and the consequences/results. I don’t give a flying fig what anyone else thinks about me now J.

My husband, Joel, and I.

And my husband still calls me beautiful J