woman-walk
by kelle olwyler

Growing up in a third world country like Mexico, being feminine meant very different things than in the U.S., particularly when it came to the body.

There, every pair of women's hips, young or old, slender or wide as a house, swayed with the motion of a clock pendulum: smooth . . . even . . . loose . . . and so, so ancient.

From the time little girls begin their toddling steps, their eyes were below level of a woman's hips, so the rolling motion that comes naturally to a woman was the first motion a girl learned as her spindly legs grew strong enough to hold her and to propel her. It was in this culture of rolling body motions, a natural flow of flesh akin to water meandering in a quiet brook that I spent the first 16 years of life.

Then suddenly, because my New England father realized I was at a marriageable age at 16—and yes, I had a boyfriend whose family expected me to marry their boy soon—I was dropped from a cultural thread made of bright colors, sing-song voices and fluid movements into the dry lands of Texas.

In Texas, even the drawl seemed harsh and flat, the pitfalls of “making a wrong social move” many, and the expectations about how a woman’s body should move . . . impossible! Going from a world where natural movement was. . . well, natural, to a world where a woman allowing her hips to move was flaunting . . . cheap . . . low-class, was confounding. Even at 16, I understood that men had dictated in this new culture that women's bodies were to move like men's, except, of course, in the privacy of the bedroom! Who the hell signed me up for this!?!?

But the pull of peers and the need for acceptance took their toll. I never got really good at walking as if I had a broom up my ass, but I got it down enough that I became 'respectable', a.k.a., acceptable.

Freedom arrived in my mid twenties when I moved to San Francisco to spend time with my father on his monthly jaunts up from Mexico. It was the San Francisco hillsides and my father's presence that slowly called back the natural pendulum in my body. Walking arm in arm with him through those rollercoaster streets, I had to sway to be in step with such a great man! My hips sprouted wings once again and sang as I walked, breasts swaying in counterpoint. Ah…this felt real… this felt right.

In my thirties, the California women I associated with began noticing that my hips tipped in a way that their bodies had no clue about! In a women's retreat I was leading, I got my first request to teach women to 'woman-walk'. We walked slowly and deeply, each hip swinging its arc before the other continued the ancient rhythm, a sensual statement that clearly said, “I am here, and I am strong!” Woman-walk became a part of every retreat, a way for women to celebrate themselves, a doorway to their natural bodies.

The innate movement of my body is a gift I very nearly gave away. My good fortune was that I reclaimed my gift before my hips had rigidly fixed in place and the memory of natural movement was completely lost. Now in my middle fifties, my bones may ache, and my muscles are weak, but when I walk down the street, my hips still swing like those of a young girl, proclaiming, “I am always . . . woman!”

 

Kelle Olwyler is a performance consultant who works with individuals and groups to determine their unique strengths and best uses and how to apply that information to get better than expected results. She was raised in central Mexico and moved to the United States at the age of 16.
[ 828-254-8049; kelbergan.com ]