It’s hard to look in the mirror and say, “This is me.” I’ve written about trying to accept myself for who I am, and I’ve written about trying to change. Right now, I’m doing best at being annoyed that I’m too accepting of who I am and not spurred enough to change. What gives?
I just went shoe shopping. I am so one of those girls. Fill my life with shoes, and I’m happy. I’ve always been that way. Chuck Taylors for every color, trainers for comfy, ballet flats for fashion, sandals for everything. It’s true. Look in the mirror, and I’m a shoe whore.
Fast forward. Fibromyalgia. Generalized pain disorder. Feet of fire, like walking on coals or crushed glass or barefoot on rough gravel. How’s a girl to be a shoe whore when she can’t even walk? Do you know how expensive orthopedic shoes are? How unattractive they can be and how difficult to track down the truly helpful in the face of fashion shoe whoredom? Trust me, it’s hard. Attractive orthopedic shoes are a journey of exploration and discovery.
I’ve become moderately financially solvent, and the shoe whore bell went off in my brain. MBT. Birkenstock. Onmyodo. Their siren song called much too loudly for me, and how could I not listen? “Christine… O’ Christine,” the sirens sing in their sweet, entrancing voices. I can’t help it. My fingers type the URLs. Zappos. Birkenstockcentral. Onmyodo. My mouse. “Christine, look, we are fashion AND comfort!” Click. Add to cart.
Why? I blame my dad for having no self control. He taught me that everything is just one desire away from reality, without teaching me how many mortgages he took out on the house. But is it dad’s fault still? I’m an adult. I’m a shoe-aholic. I have a shoe problem. I’m a whore for cute orthopedic shoes. Credit company, love me and charge me interest! I need Onmyodo!
Sorry, Matthew, I just haven’t found it in me to change. I’m a chrysalis still.
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