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A surprise T.J. Maxx purchase brings a girlish, fuchsia-hued freedom to a newly separated writer.

I had a messy divorce.

In this, Imnot alone, but divorce is such a lonely process.

In Shayla Lawson’s new book, the author writes about how hula hooping got them through a messy divor…

My wedding was a fairy tale.

On the day, he surprised me with a bouquet of flowers.

I wasnt a froufrou girl at the time.

In ‘How to Live Free in a Dangerous World,’ author Shayla Lawson writes about the joy of hula hoopin…

I planned to walk down the outdoor aisle without them.

I was a Southern Christian girl.

I constructed itas my faultthat I was in love and unhappy.

‘How to Live Free in a Dangerous World: A Decolonial Memoir,’ by Shayla Lawson

She didnt tell me about it.

She told him he had to.

My parents hadnt been.

Naive and trusting, I told him we needed to take this directly to the church.

But institutions are institutions.

I learned that the hard way.

But I was poor and barely 30.

Maybe an extra 5 grand in the years I won a few prizes for my poetry.

And the rift my husband had intentionally caused between myself and my family was pretty irreparable.

My divorce took time because I was nearly broke and alone.

I had two small indulgences at the time.

One day, scouring the clearance aisles in a kind of blood panic, I came across a Hula-Hoop.

With an instructional DVD attached to it.

I purchased the hoop and took it home.

My new Hula-Hoop was soft and loud.

It was as big as the dining table and covered in fuchsia neoprene.

I didnt expect to be good at this now, but that was precisely why it appealed to me.

I was tired of how much goodness mattered in my pursuit of being a grown woman.

In the midst of my divorce, the world owed memy lost girlhood.

In those few seconds I kept the hoop up, I felt beautiful.

I felt flawless and earthy and privately mine.

My husband and I separated.

Girl, it looks like you could be ironing laundry and cookin on the stove!

They were proud of me.

In mercy, I said yes and packed my hoops in my suitcase.

It had been maybe four months since Id started hooping, but Id become quite good.

Before my Hula-Hoop, I had never associated my purpose with pleasure.

With my own delight.

And staying inside the groove, staying inside the swirl of my own rhythm, kept me safe.

They did not want me to divorce the man.

I couldnt understand the rationale.

But it was a lack of balance I was accustomed to in the world outside of hoop life.

By this point, I had graduated to spinning multiple hoops on my body at one time.

I stayed in the flow.

I trusted my gut.

I stood up to my mother.

She took a long time to forgive me.

But I was a married woman who needed to seeif there was anything redeemablein her Christian courtship.

The trip was disastrous.

He believed it was going to be a smoke-and-mirrors game.

A romantic getaway where we went back to being the adventurous, carefree version of us other people envied.

I wasnt having it.

Pretension wasnt my kind of life.

A coastal activity coordinator.

Having packed none of mine, I snatched the hoop out his hands.

The music started, and we all wiggled our hips.

After a few false starts, I tested the hoops weight and width with my hands.

The move wasnt cute, but it was effective.

But what I had in my heart was the rhythm of life.

I kept hooping long after the music stopped.

I didnt even notice the competition had ended.

My worthy opponent came over and gave me the biggest hug.

Howd you learn to move like that, girl?

she said, holding her weave back with both hands the ultimate gesture of Black girl appreciation.

Girl, I am going through a terrible divorce!

We were still cackling when my husband walked up, shriveled and surly.

My husband tried to say something Yeah, my w… but no one was listening.

And from that day on, I danced for myself.

Copyright (c) 2024 by Shayla Lawson.