Last week during my break/time away with family, I was able to think about topics I would like to blog about. So I wrote my notes down and started writing out my next post. I’m not sure why I haven’t learned yet that my long thought-out plans are normally tossed out the window. One day I’ll publish all my forgotten works, but I digress. Today’s post isn’t meant to be a pity party or to elicit sympathy. I’m on a journey, and this topic comes up frequently. I sure I’m not alone in this, so God put it on my heart to share.

This past weekend my husband and I celebrated 7 years of marriage. We had an amazingly wonderful night out that included dinner and seeing the incomparable Hamilton. It was an overall great time. Want to know one of the things I enjoyed about our evening? I wore heels! Real heels for most of the night (I made it to the intermission of the show), too. I know this probably sounds silly to anyone who doesn’t have chronic foot pain reading this, but it meant more to me than just wearing a nice pair of shoes. Ever since the onset of my symptoms, my feet have been ground zero for pain. My feet (and hands) are where my joints seem to ache and stiffen first, and they are the indicator for an oncoming flare. So, over the past 5 years, contrary to my desires, I’ve slowly replaced my heels with (somewhat) stylish flats. Now don’t get me wrong - flats are wonderful, and there are actually super cute comfortable shoes out there. But there’s just nothing like a nice pump - especially when you are out for a special occasion. So I wore the heels, and it felt great (it also felt great to put on the flats I brought with).

I was so happy to spend a couple of hours in those pumps. Yet, I’m sitting here typing with pain in my hips that I’m almost certain came from wearing heels. Why was it so important for me to wear shoes that would have consequences like this? After I received two extremely similar but separate articles yesterday from my husband and my friend within a 5-minute time span (which I highly recommend you read here and here) about the body and self-image, I realized that God was showing me that I still have issues around accepting my new look. And it really isn’t about shoes.

Rewriting and shifting the way we look at ourselves after diagnosis is a challenging process. Loving our bodies is exponentially harder when our bodies don’t operate the way they are supposed to. Looking in the mirror shifts from noticing imperfections here and there to staring at a dysfunctional body that causes misery. Hands and feet don’t look nearly as good when they are swollen and red. And then there are the side effects of medications and effects of a drastically changed lifestyle. Cellulite dimples, rolls, full face, and an hourglass that has completely disappeared, all because of a jacked up immune system. Loafers actually look great, but a heel would at least make my body appear to be somewhat leaner and give me a confidence boost.

Then, there’s the transition from the old lifestyle to the new. Heels are a memento of going whenever and wherever without having to think of the repercussions on my body. A day and/or night in heels might have caused some discomfort, but it certainly wouldn’t have had me lying in bed all day. The loss of freedom to choose whatever I want to wear on my feet mirrors the loss of freedom to participate in activities that I wish I could do without worry. And, of course, there’s the loss of spontaneity - throwing on a pair of pumps to meet up with my husband or friends is mostly out of the question. I would say that heels represent the energetic, physically fit, active body of my past, while flats represent the body that is worn down, fatigued, and faulty.

But I believe there may also be a positive aspect to my holding onto those amazing 3-inch stilettos: hope. I’m holding on to the hope of supernatural healing, and I’m not ashamed of it. Some people will tell me to move on, and forget about the heels, that shoes are a silly thing to hold on to. But, I have kept all my heels, and I have no plans on getting rid of any.  I believe and hope that I will be able to wear those shoes at some point without pain. And while I’m waiting for my body to be strengthened, I will continue to seek the strengthening and renewal of my mind and spirit, trusting that God will give me the mental and spiritual fortitude to keep moving forward and growing regardless of what happens to me physically.

My journey of loving my current body, with all my flaws and malfunctioning, includes both flats and heels. As I grow in my understanding that my physical body is very much a part of God’s purpose for my life, my acceptance of what I see in the mirror also grows. My heels are a part of my past story as a part of my testimony, but I remain hopeful that they will make a reappearance in my future. For now, though, this chapter is mostly flats, and they are just as good, just as pretty, and just as meaningful.