As a child and even young adult my hatred of feet had always been abundantly clear. Doctors had to force me to remove my socks for my yearly physical. I suppose I’ve always been self conscious of my feet. While I was never blatantly disliked in grade school, the one thing I’d been teased about were my too-large, too-skinny feet. By grade 4 I was wearing a 9.5! I think I nearly cried in the shoe store.
In recent years I guess you could say I’ve developed an appreciation for feet. I like the symbolism of footprints, which are impossible without feet. I’ve come to accept my size 11-12 shoe size. And I no longer jump 5ft in the air if someones foot grazes any part of my body. An even bigger step, I’ll still talk to you if your feet touch me. I may even consider politely asking for its removal.
Mostly, my feet haven’t failed me. Perhaps they’re not the prettiest feet around; but come on…they’re feet! They are callused, scarred & maybe a bit odd shapen. Yet they’ve never failed me. They take me places, put up with the poor shoe choices I make from time to time, swiftly adjust from pink to blue to purple painting…they are probably my most loving body part. After a long day of work, of course they’re sore. They’ve had their share of blisters, cuts, burns and even a wart problem as a young child.
The real question, I guess, is why the hell am I writing about feet?!?! And, honestly, I think it’s because I need something to appreciate about myself. Silly, I know. It’s just been too much lately and my feet haven’t given up. My immune system has revolted (even more than normal), my hormones are off and as a result of the immune troubles, my muscle tone has also given up working. It seems as though my body is quitting and it’s killing me. I need to stop hating me. And my feet are dependable. A fresh splash of my favorite nailpolish and they even appear halfway decent!
Some day I may look back at this with sadness, pity and embarrassment; though I hope differently. We should be able to appreciate ourselves, every little piece. So, today, I choose my feet. A small part of all of me. It’s all I can muster to appreciate at the moment as I lay in bed, in pain, overtired and a bit defeated. Feet, I’ve decided are a good place to start. They’re the ones who move you, right?