I'd been teaching for a year now, and the drive still set me on edge after dark.
The Crosswell Pawn & Loan sat on a corner lot, its neon sign flickering weakly in the growing dusk. The space I rented for my classes was on the second floor, above the shop. I let myself in through the main entrance and headed to the small first-floor bathroom, making sure the door was locked before changing. I traded my jeans and sweater for athletic shorts and a sports bra, stuffing my clothes into my gym bag.
The interior staircase creaked as I climbed to the second floor. The door at the top—the one that should secure my studio space—had a broken lock. The building owner kept promising tofix it, but six months later, here I was shouldering it open like always.
The space wasn't much—an open room with eight chrome poles anchored floor to ceiling, left behind by whoever had the space before me. Another pole fitness instructor, maybe, or aerial arts. I'd mounted mirrors on one wall myself, set up my portable sound equipment in the corner, added some mats for floor work. An old couch sat against the back wall, useful for students to rest between sets.
I'd built something here. Every class, every student, every dollar earned—that was mine.
I started the music and began my warm-up routine. I'd discovered pole fitness two and a half years ago, back when I was still with Boyd. The first time I'd climbed a pole and inverted, I'd felt powerful. Strong in a way I'd forgotten I could be.
Six months later, I finally left him. And I'd never looked back.
The chrome was cold against my palms, but I barely noticed. Muscle memory took over as I climbed, inverted, spun. My body knew what to do, had learned these movements through hours of practice and determination.
"Lacey!"
Maya's voice carried up the stairs, and I smiled as I came down from an aerial spin. My first student had arrived.
"Hey! Come on up."
Maya was in her thirties, an accountant with two kids and a husband who thought her pole fitness hobby was "cute." He didn't know that Maya could hold an iron cross for ninety seconds or that she was working on her aerial invert.
Jenna arrived next—a nurse in her twenties with arms that were getting seriously toned—followed by Riley, a divorced mom in her forties who'd told me once that pole fitness saved her life after her marriage fell apart.
Three regular students. Fifteen dollars a class, three nights a week. The math was simple: roughly five hundred forty dollars a month before expenses. After I paid the four hundred in rent for this space, I had maybe a hundred and forty left over. Some months there were extra costs—equipment repairs, liability insurance, new mats. But slowly, painfully slowly, I was building savings for school.
It wasn't much. But it was mine—earned with my own strength.
And it meant something beyond the money. Watching these women discover what their bodies could do, seeing them accomplish things they'd never thought possible—I loved that part. Loved seeing them realize they were capable of more than they'd believed.
"Okay, ladies," I said, once we'd all warmed up. "Tonight we're working on a new combination. It's tricky, so don't get frustrated if it takes a few tries."
I demonstrated the sequence—a body spiral that transitioned into a carousel spin, then caught into a fireman hold.
"We'll break it down piece by piece. Maya, you want to start?"
She approached her pole with determination, gripping high and lifting into the spiral. Her form was good, but she rushed the transition.
"Slower," I coached. "You've got the strength. Trust it."
She tried again, and this time nailed it. Her whoop of triumph echoed through the space.
"Yes! That's it!" I grinned at her. "See? You needed to trust yourself."
"My arms are shaking," Riley admitted, attempting the spiral. She made it halfway before losing her grip.
"That means it's working." I moved beside her pole. "Engage your core before you lift. Pull from your abs, not your arms."
I demonstrated, feeling the familiar burn through my obliques. Riley mimicked the movement, and I adjusted her form.
"Better. Now add the pole."
She tried again, and while she didn't complete the full sequence, she held the spiral longer.
"That's progress. A month ago, you couldn't hold a basic spin for ten seconds. Look at you now."
Jenna picked up the combination on her second try, though her carousel needed work.
