Laura Alyn - Hula Feels Like Home

Laura you grew up dancing Ballet, Jazz and Tap, which you quit at age 12 to play soccer. You said that you lost touch with your feminine side, what did this mean to you to lose touch with your feminine side? 

Dance was my way of expressing femininity, and quitting felt like abandoning that side of myself. Soccer, a more competitive and structured sport, shifted my focus from self-expression to performance and achievement. I made this switch largely due to people-pleasing tendencies—my father, who wanted sons, encouraged me and my sisters to play soccer. I had to “give in,” the rest chose it willingly.

Rediscovering hula has been a way to reclaim my femininity, choosing an activity that deeply resonates with my body, soul, mind, and spirit. It’s not about rejecting masculinity but about balancing both feminine and masculine energies. Hula allows me to listen to my body again and embrace movement as an authentic form of self-expression.

The teenage years and even our 20’s can be a hard time for confidence and identity. Can you tell us more about your journey with your sense of self through these informative years?

As a teenager, I aimed to be the perfect student, daughter, and sister, never rebelling or exploring my own desires. In college, I began to find myself, but within the confines of a Christian school, where self-exploration was limited by societal and religious expectations. Eventually, I merged my need for structure with my free-spirited, wild side, but still followed a well-defined path—teaching, pursuing a PhD, and planning a wedding. I had envisioned my wedding as a moment where my femininity would shine, a culmination of everything I had repressed growing up—that is, until COVID. When COVID-19 canceled my wedding overnight, it forced me to reevaluate everything and ask, “Why do I want x, y, z?” and "Who am I?"

I was propelled into a spiritual awakening. I took time away from my PhD, left teaching, and moved to the countryside with my husband and dogs, where I confronted the realization that I had no clear sense of self. My identity had been shaped by external expectations. Over two years, I deconstructed every belief I held—about myself, society, and spirituality—asking where each belief came from and if I truly agreed with it.

Astrology became a guiding framework, helping me understand my different facets without losing myself completely. I documented this journey on my podcast, Grounded Spirits, which now explores the connection between the inner and outer worlds, particularly through dreaming. During those two years, I lived in my inner world, detached from external pressures, allowing me to rediscover and redefine myself.

You returned to dance at 30 where you reconnected with your femininity. How does dance inform your relationship with your body and how you define yourself as a woman? 

At the end of those two years, I started joining different groups and organizations. By chance, there was a community senior center down the street offering free hula classes. It was meant to bring joy to seniors, but it became something deeply meaningful for me. We’d slip on skirts provided by the instructor, put flowers in our hair, and simply follow along—moving our bodies without worrying about technical perfection, just feeling the rhythm and embracing femininity.

I hadn’t realized how much I had stopped using my hips in dance. As a Mexican, hip movement was always part of how we danced, but somewhere along the way, I had lost that connection. In hula, it was okay to shake my hips without it feeling too sexual or sinful. It was okay to move the booty, to feel my body, and to let energy flow through me.

It was incredible to be embraced by a community of women, many of them seniors with a lifetime of wisdom. They mentored me, supported me, and inspired me. Dancing with them was an experience unlike any other.

These women taught me that femininity is never lost—it evolves. Dance reminded me that you’re never too old to express your body, your sexuality, or your femininity. What I love about hula is its deep spiritual connection—its ties to nature, ancestors, and storytelling. Through these stories woven into dance, I continue to discover what it means to be a woman.

Laura danced ballet folkorico (Mexican folk dance) as a child.

How did you come to be a part of this Halau? Can you tell us more about the Halau you are a part of? 

In 2023, my husband and I decided to move closer to Los Angeles. I needed to learn that it was safe to put my authentic self out there. For about a year, I focused on that, but something was missing: my body craved hula. I searched for it online. The first group that popped up had an Instagram, so I messaged them. They had me fill out a questionnaire, come in for an audition, and I got in.

What I love most about this hālau is its strictness. It might sound odd, considering what I said earlier about the balance between structure and the wildness of being a woman, but in dance, precision matters. Hula isn’t just movement—it’s lineage, tradition, and storytelling. I want to get it right, to honor the ancestors, the dance, and nature. The community center hula had been beautiful in its freedom, but now I wanted depth. I had spent so much time gaining broad knowledge (in hula and in my PhD— which I returned to upon the move), but I lacked precision. Through hula, I’ve come to appreciate the power of precision. When every step is exact, a different kind of energy flows through me. I’m not just dancing—I am embodying a story. I love how my body expresses itself through it.

The Halau isn’t just about dance—it’s a way of life, deeply rooted in tradition, discipline, and respect. Learning hula means engaging with stories, emotions, and a connection to the land. It’s not just about movement but about honoring history and embodying a cultural legacy.

You say that it teaches not only the hula steps but also a way of life, can you tell us more about this? 

It teaches a non-western way to look at the world. We don’t see the world as divided, everything is part of everything else. This fosters a deep sense of community with each other, with other Halaus, and with nature. The chant that we’re currently learning is about how to overcome a challenge. It starts off with a mountain calling upon us to undergo the trek in climbing it but we need to be pure of heart and mind in order to get to the summit. To purify, we must listen to our inner selves, our bodies, and our souls. Through humility and community, we can overcome anything.

Our connection with our place and our people affects our wellbeing and sense of identity. How does dance connect you with the people around you and your place? How have you seen dance impact the health, well-being, and confidence of yourself or those around you? 

What I love about Hula is that it tells the stories of Native people and their deep connection to nature. When I dance, it feels like I’m dancing with Mother Nature herself. This connection is so important because it ties us (and our health) to the land we inhabit.

Dance has profoundly impacted my health, well-being, and confidence. It has shown me the value of community and the power of moving together. After spending two years in isolation, I needed something that I loved more than solitude—Hula became that for me. Through dance, I express myself, connect with others, and communicate stories and emotions in a way that words cannot.

Beyond being a physical exercise, dance has strengthened my relationship with my body. I believe health is directly linked to a love for life and listening to one’s body, and hula has helped me do just that. Moving in unison with others creates a sense of belonging, which has been especially meaningful after my time in isolation. For me, Hula feels like home.

Is dance political for you or an expression of something bigger or meaningful to you? 

Dance is both political and an expression of something bigger. In Hawaii, there was a time when we weren’t allowed to dance—when colonizers forbade Hula, silencing our stories. It was King Kalākaua, known as the Merrie Monarch, who revived the tradition, allowing us to dance again. So, in many ways, dancing is a political act—reclaiming something that was once illegal, a tradition that has endured despite attempts to erase it.

Beyond that, dance holds deep meaning for me. I love that it allows for individual expression while moving in unity with others. That paradox—being part of a collective while still expressing yourself—is incredible to witness and experience. It makes dance feel powerful, timeless, and deeply meaningful.

What words do you have for women wanting to connect with themselves more and express their authentic selves confidently? 

To any woman looking to connect with herself and express her authentic self confidently, I would say: start by asking why. Why do you think the way you do? Why do you hold certain beliefs or values? Question everything. Self-awareness is the foundation of confidence.

One practice that has helped me is a weekly brain dump. Every Monday, I write down everything on my mind—thoughts, questions I have, lingering worries, decisions I need to make, fears, and ideas. I then reflect on what I want to let go of. Over time, I’ve noticed that by the next week, I often have answers to my questions and have released what no longer serves me.

Another way to connect with yourself is to explore what truly excites you. I always tell people to visit a public library and browse—see what books draw you in. Follow your curiosity. Let it snowball. The more you explore your interests, the more you’ll develop a strong sense of self. And with that, confidence will naturally follow—because when you truly know yourself, you can express yourself freely and unapologetically.