Feet Are Friends Not Food

Feet are weird. I mean, they are wonderful, but they are weird. I’ve never really had a problem with my feet growing up. Perhaps, because most people think their feet are weird it makes you feel okay about yours? Kind of what happened to a lot of my anxiety when we first went into lockdown. No acting work was happening so I didn’t have to feel anxious about not having any.

It’s not because my feet aren’t weird. I have slightly webbed toes which means sandals/flip flops with bits that go in between your toes are a no go for me. I always fantasised that my webbing would mean I was a brilliant swimmer, one whose ancestors were merpeople perhaps, but since I still can’t tread water I think I need to let that go.

However, in the last few years I have developed something which means my toenails on my big toes (is that childhood thing or do we all still call them big toes?) are disgusting. Actually rank. I have done all the fungal treatments, been to several doctors and no one can figure out what I have so I feel I am stuck with these gross things for life. At this stage, I am beginning to fantasise that I am a medical marvel. No one knows why my hair fell out and now my toes are stumping the experts.

It’s made me so self-conscious about my feet. I don’t wear open toe sandals anymore or hardly ever walk around in bare feet. This is probably making it worse because I am letting no air on them. I have no scientific basis that air will help but growing up “letting things breathe” always seemed to be the cure even though, despite having slight webbing, I am yet to grow a set of gills on my toes.

I recently wrote a short online play about feet and our relationship with them for my theatre company Degenerate Fox (You can watch it here). The visuals for the piece were made up of footage of my feet. Number one - it is very awkward to film your own feet and get the right angles. Number two - that becomes infinitely harder when you are trying to avoid showing your gross toes. Number three - high quality cameras really show up every bit of dry skin. However, it was a joy spending time with my bare feet.

There’s a theory floating around that walking barefoot, especially on grass and earth, can be calming for our nervous system; sort of acting like an earth wire in a plug and literally grounding us. It's literally called 'Earthing'. I am fully open to the idea that this might be bollox but I love being barefoot on grass. It has such a huge effect on my mood, that a little part of me (a large part of me) believes this theory.

That’s why I set myself today’s task in the 30 Day Connection Challenge - an excuse to get my gross, freaky fish feet out there.

They may not be pretty but they make me happy.