I have a friend that when he is uncertain where to go, I remind him to allow his feet to take him there. He has a solid relationship with his body and his knowing and when he can drop into it, his feet know just where to go.

I have a very different relationship with my feet. At times I experience the area between my feet and my knees as wholly separate from my body.

It began after an unexplained injury to my left foot that left me in a brace for several years. It may have begun in my early years when I was fitted with a Denis Browne bar; it’s a hobbling sort of contraption that helps to align feet, knees and hips in very young children.

My desire to reconnect and get out of the brace is what led me to my friend who knows his feet so well.

He helped me to walk again, and I became very interested in embodiment, so I tried in the Feldenkrais Method of Somatic Education and there I grew the relationship with my body, removed the brace and felt renewed and relatively healed though not completely devoid of challenges such as lifting up on my toes.

Over the years that relationship with my feet has been on and off again. At times I am quite unstable and disconnected but I continue to walk. I notice shifts in my gate and differences between my two feet, even when several years ago, my right foot began to have similar issues.

I went to a practitioner once because my left hip and low back were hurting. She placed her hands on my feet and exclaimed, “Oh, your feet are quite cold.” I did not realize they were until that moment when her hands felt so warm.

At the time, I thought I felt better barefoot and rarely ever wore shoes or socks. Something about that moment clicked. I realized I never had warm clothes. I rarely wore a coat. I realized how in keeping my feet unshod, I was also neglecting them on a very basic level.

Over the years, I’ve come to see the act of covering and caring for my body correlates to how connected I feel. It’s interesting to see how I will deny myself certain comforts while still believing I am doing what is right for me.

I recently returned to dancing a form of movement that is very freeing. I used to do this in a group and now I am doing so alone. I found myself unable to do much of it from my feet but it’s okay because I learned long ago to dance from other positions, on my knees, in a chair, against the floor, against a wall. Places where I did not need to rely upon my feet to be fully upright.

I’ve often felt that not being able to stand on your feet is no excuse for not being able to dance.

But here moving to a playlist made by my well-footed friend, I thought of how interesting it was to me that I had so often told him to allow his feet to move him and how different that is for me.

Another time a practitioner told me that I needed to keep welcoming my feet in. When a body part is in ill-ease it’s not uncommon to forget it is still a part of us.

We often think of self-care extremes such as hedonistic self-indulgent pleasures like going to the spa for papering. Or we may lean more towards betterment through tough love, where we finally have enough and become willing to make a personal change, no matter what it takes.

I think the sweet spot of self-care is a kindness that we afford our own selves, our bodies, our spirits, our minds. Do we clothe ourselves properly, do we welcome ourselves into the fullness of who we are, do we love ourselves? What is the quality with which we allow ourselves to be pampered, or we coach ourselves into greater health? And from that foundation, how can we expand into both comfort and the uncomfortable.

Today, I wonder where my feet will lead me, what adventures they may take me on, or what they might guide me to if I just give them the attention they deserve. I still dance from the floor often, but I also stand and sway slightly just to feel the differing pressure. Sometimes I touch them nicely and say hello, you are welcome to be here. It’s a process that looks different at different times.

I still rarely wear shoes but do often have socks on. I have a greater and greater curiosity about what my feet can add to my life and I do more to listen. I’m still waiting for them to lead me and perhaps, as they feel greater acceptance, they will.