When my sister and I were little, we had this white plastic horse. I’m not sure where we got it. Maybe a garage sale.

We’d try to play Barbies with it, placing the dolls on its slick, shiny back. The horse wasn’t having it. The dolls slid right off and plunked onto the floor. The horse remained free, unencumbered.


Whenever I remember that horse, I think, really, that’s how women, underneath all the stuff, would like to be.

Free and unencumbered.

To roam about, do what we want, when we want. Swirl around in a lake, pool or ocean. Roll among the tall grasses. Howl at the moon. Literally.


Mama Gena, who wrote the New York Times bestseller, Pussy, A Reclamation, says, “women hate the cage.”

Sheila Kelley, owner of the pole studios where I danced in California, agrees. At retreats, she’d remind us of our primal origins.

Those ancient days, when women collected in the fields, made circles and danced, or gathered in a cave to hold counsel.

Women certainly weren’t designed to sit around at home, behind computer screens, alone all day. It’s deathly for us. We crave community. Sisterhood and yes, freedom.

Even if you don’t think so, just let your mind explore for a bit. What would you do if you were free from all the domestication? The obligations. The pressures and the worries.



I don’t know what ever happened to that horse. Sometimes, I see one like it in a thrift shop and think, maybe I should buy it. Then, I go, no, let it be. Wandering around in its own world, free and unencumbered.