miriam beth

when i was a teenager i was running around barefoot at a youth activity and a boy saw my feet and in amazement said, "those are the weirdest feet i've ever seen."

and then i hated my feet.

because he was right: they are weird. i mean, they're feet. all feet are weird to a degree. but mine are big and the toes are long and some of the toes are a little curved and i rarely remember to do cute things to my feet like paint the toenails or lotion them up or attack the stubborn calluses. my feet look like they've been hard at work. and they have.

for years i was afraid of tennis shoes because i thought it would make my feet look bigger. i didn't like any other jeans other than bootcut or even flared because they would cover my feet. i subconsciously kept my toes curled in, hidden from view.

when i was seventeen i got a glimpse of my grandma isabelle's feet. grandma isabelle had cancer and there were lots of weekends when my dad and i would drive up to see her on the weekend and help take care of her. sometimes this meant i read to her or visited with her or rubbed her hands. sometimes this meant I helped her use the toilet or bathed her. that was a very important experience to have, those special, quiet moments with my grandma. one time i was helping her off the couch and i looked down to make sure her feet were in the right spot before she leaned her weight forward and i pulled her into the wheelchair and i saw them: her feet. and they were my feet.

"grandma!" i said in surprise. "we have the same feet!"

"i hope that's alright with you," Grandma said.

and then i loved my feet.

suddenly my feet were okay. because if they were the same feet as my grandma, and my grandma wasn't always going to be with me physically, then i had her feet. and my grandma was a real woman. i mean she was smart and accomplished and humble and hard working. she made it work. she had nine babies. she read books and played the piano and served and did the right things. my grandma is exactly the kind of woman i needed to look up to and here i was, realizing that whenever i looked down, i could be reminded of her.

this is self love. i don't love my feet because they are cute and little and dainty and smooth and the toes are just the right length. i still can't really find shoes that fit. they're still a little too big for my body and the toes are long and some of them are a little curled. but those are MY feet. my grandma's feet. they've kept me upright. they've hiked me up some mountains. they've taken me all over some of my favorite cities in the world. my feet are the best.

self love is loving who you are where you are and not because you are perfect and flawless. this is what my feet have taught me.