Is This Mine?

I have a minor in dance, Flamenco dance specifically. So I spent a fair amount of time in Carlise gym, in classes or prepping for them. I remember one day when I was warming up before a class. I was sitting on a bench in the large area of the gym pointing and flexing my toes. Another woman was on the bench next to me when she commented on the structure of my arches and how they “weren’t pretty.” She went on to explain what the ideal curve should look like. It has been 30 years since this moment, but I still think about it. But recently I started to wonder about it.

Why do negative comments stick with us?

I’ve studied Flamenco and Tap dance. Neither type of dance has much toe pointing in it. In fact I had to unlearn some pointing habits when I went back to Tap dance in my late 30s. So not having a “pretty point” is pretty much a non-issue for me, so why did it stick with me? I’ve always had some negative feelings about my feet. They were too big, inherited from my mom. When I was 18, I discovered I have flat feet and that wearing shoes that were too small were giving me tailor’s bunions. The foot doc said that this is usually inherited. My mom wondered where on earth I could have gotten this overpronation from. And I glanced at her shoes sitting next to mine and noticed they both slumped in the same way. Now I deal with flare ups of plantar fasciitis, something my mom has dealt with, and I now remember the custom inserts I once found in my grandpa’s (mom’s dad) shoes. My feet were never gonna be ballerina feet. In fact, foot damage was one of multiple reasons I shied away from ballet in the first place. I loved the noise and solidness of tap and flamenco. I’ve always been more rhythmic than lyrical. So why does that stray comment haunt me.

Bullying is rarely about the target.

I’ve realized quite recently that this foot bullying probably had nothing to do with me. I didn’t know this woman. So why did she feel compelled to denigrate my feet? The most likely explanation is that she had her own “ugly feet” issues and she decided to make herself feel better by passing them on to me. It might have gone something like this in her head, “at least my feet aren’t like hers!” Maybe she had even experienced foot bullying herself at some point and wanted to pass on the pain? Maybe this issue with the ugly point isn’t even mine?

It is common for neurodivergent people to get bullied. Often, they get bullied about their differences, sometimes it is even the aspects of them that are their strengths. But frequently these events are about what the bully is experiencing, not their target. Most people who lash out to hurt others are hurting themselves and are looking for a place to store this hurt so they don’t have to carry it.

Just because it hurts doesn’t mean I have to keep it.

I don’t have to carry that other woman’s foot pain—I’ve got enough of my own! Except for when the plantar fasciitis is bad, my feet do everything I need them to do. They carry me around for farm chores, grocery runs and delightful hikes. They stabilize me when I’m riding a horse. Nothing I need my feet to do for me involves having a pretty point. So why does that memory still haunt me? Maybe I can let go of this burden that is not mine?

Is this true? Does it matter?

One of the ways to deal with what a bully says is to ask yourself two questions: “Is this true?” and “Does that matter?” In my case the statement was true (to a degree) my flat feet won’t ever make a curved point. The debatable part is whether or not a curved point is needed to be pretty. But does that even matter? No. The dance I was doing didn’t require that sort of curve, and neither does the rest of what I do with my feet.

The next time this thought about ugly feet comes unbidden to my mind, and it will. I can respond with gratitude for what my feet can do and loving kindness to that poor woman who might think her own feet are ugly.What she did, the bullying behavior, was not okay, but as a human she is okay.