Uncomfortable Shoes to Fill

Have you heard of abundance blocks before? It’s the idea that ridiculously simple but hidden thoughts can quietly hold us back from what we say we want.  

As strange as it sounds, shoes were an abundance block for me.  

The epiphany hit me in therapy last week—naturally, but not because my therapist was digging on old family wounds. She merely complimented my shoes. I was doing my session on lunch break from my new job, so I was dressed accordingly.  In that moment, I realized that I liked my shoes too.  My therapist’s compliment was innocent and unassuming, but for me it signaled a moment of arrival. 

I had finally overcome a huge fear I had about not being able to find shoes that fit me.

Love/Hate for Shoes

I am both a shoe person and not a shoe person. I love to be barefoot every chance I get. I frequently slip out of my shoes to feel the grass between my toes.  Though I love to be barefoot, I also like a good pair of shoes.  When I say good, though I’ve lived on the low income side of the tracks, I consider durable, comfortable shoes an investment. I’m quite particular about my shoes, because I want my feet to be well cared for. 

Here’s where the block comes in:  I hate shoes that people wear in office settings.  They are hard, and narrow, and expensive.  

It’s the very metaphor of cramming your precious self into something confining and uncomfortable for the sake of conformity–everything I am against. 

Of all the fears that reared their ugly head during this recent change from small business to corporate, it wasn’t the culture shift or the learning curve.  It  was the mildly irrational fear of my closet.

I had no idea what I’d wear.

I loathe uncomfortable clothes that don’t breathe and move with your body. And shoes that make the piggies squeal are a deal breaker.  

In contemplation of this much needed career transition I dreaded the idea of:
1.  locating (aka shopping for) and 2. coordinating the required attire. 

Not to mention, I didn’t have the budget for a closet overhaul.

I did a thrift store raid and found a handful of maybe shoes I thought I’d test drive while I figured out what “corporate me” looked like.  I knew this would be a work in progress and I couldn’t hope for an overnight transformation.  It would take time to discover clothes that didn’t just fit, but that felt like me. 

While at the thrift store, I found this wacky little pair of black leather shoes with slick leather soles, that are just polished enough to pass in a corporate setting, but quirky enough to look like they belong on a witch. (Yes, I said witch and that was unexpected for me too).  I wore them to an event where I ended up doing quite a bit of walking and, honestly, I felt like the bee’s knees in my new kicks. But with every step, they echoed off the commercial floors, clickety-clacking like high heels on a runway. I brushed it off, assuming it was just the leather soles.

Hours later, I was deep in conversation about values and purpose with a well-dressed gentleman when I happened to glance down. One of the shoes was missing the rubber heel entirely, and the waffle-shaped shell was gaping back at me like it was asking for syrup. A minor technical difficulty. I placed my feet square on the floor as I felt a mix of embarrassment and amusement.

I debated whether to toss the $10 thrifted shoes or try a DIY fix, but in the end, I found a local cobbler who spruced them up for the cost of a Chipotle bowl. So now I’m $30 into what Google lens told me is a $200 pair of shoes, and they’ve become a weekly staple. They are an easy pair to combine with most outfits and save me valuable mental energy that goes into the morning outfit debate.  And my therapist thinks they are cute!

The Shift

The point of this odd commentary on my style (or lack thereof) is that I have harbored this teeny tiny baby fear for years without realizing it or even recognizing how it was secretly undermining my confidence. 

Though not a fully conscious thought, I think it ran through the back of my head like a low background static hum: 

The looping thought:  ”yeah… but what would I wear?” 

So when the moment came to transition into corporate life, I was hit with a wave of unspoken dread that I’d look and feel like a clown in stiff slacks and an oversized blazer, sweating pit stains through a silk cami while I stopped being able to feel my toes.

Fortunately corporate “style” is far more forgiving than it used to be.  I knew I had no need to defy the dress code to make a point.  I just wanted to show up in a way I could feel good about. This whole chapter, for me, has been about learning to be comfortable in discomfort–with emphasis on the word comfort..

I needed to make this less about fitting in and more about rooting in… to my sense of self and self-direction. 

Turns out, the shoes weren’t the problem.
It was the story I’d been telling myself about who I’d have to become to wear them.

The fear wasn’t really about footwear. It was about whether I’d lose myself in this new chapter. Whether I’d feel boxed in and forced to contort myself to fit the mold. 

But little by little, a little becomes a lot.  As I keep showing up in my way, my confidence grows and my sense of agency in a world that once felt too tight, too polished, too exclusive for someone like me.

That, too, was just a story, and I know I’m not the only one who’s believed it.

Receiving a compliment on my odd little pair of shoes, that I thought no one else would like, felt like a full-circle moment for a girl who once panicked at the phrase business casual.
 

We’re Still Tribal At the End of the Day

At our core we are wired for connection. Beneath it all is a deeper, fundamental human fear of rejection. I’m not immune. 

When we change tribes, it’s natural to wonder:
Will I still be me?
Will I belong?
Will I be accepted without having to pretend?

The real work, I’m learning, is in finding a way to say yes to all three.

I still don’t love shopping. I still have mornings where I stare blankly at my closet. But that little quandary doesn’t hold me back anymore.  I don’t think I’ll ever not loathe shopping and maybe one day I’ll hire a personal stylist. (I do know my limits and I try to stick to my strengths)… 

These days, I’m showing up in thrifted shoes, mediocre outfits, and a growing sense of comfort in my own skin.  I’m learning that style, like life, doesn’t have to be perfect to feel good and I don’t have to shrink to belong.

The most aligned life begins with walking in shoes that actually fit.

So, dear reader, what small, silly-seeming thing might you be using as a reason to wait?

If you’ve been holding back because of something seemingly minor (but secretly symbolic), consider this your invitation:
Find the metaphorical shoes you want to wear and start walking.

You can build something new without betraying yourself.
You don’t have to sacrifice who you are to be taken seriously.

If you’ve been hesitating to step into your next chapter because you’re not sure what to wear (or say, or do), this is your nudge:
Start with what feels good.
Let your life fit you.
Then gently explore the places where you’re still holding back.

Those are your growth edges.
That’s where expansion begins.

Sometimes our resistance is just a symbol: a quiet signal pointing toward something tender and unspoken.
For me, it wasn’t just about shoes.
It was about worth.
It was about permission.
It was about showing up as myself.

So now I’ll ask you:
Where are you ready to take one small, bold step—in shoes that truly feel like you?