I’ve lost my shoes.
All my adult life I’ve had shoes to fill. The restaurant manager ones. The freelancer ones. The marketing manager ones. The friend ones. The girlfriend ones. The party girl ones. The depressed hot mess ones.
But now, I don’t know where my shoes are.
My new mum shoes are still a bit tight and pinchy whilst I wear them in. Building confidence wearing them every day, but the comparison and self-judgement blisters are lingering and sore.
I hung up my marketing manager shoes back in April when I handed my notice in to my pre-baby job. I’m starting to think about work shoes again, for the sake of my sanity and my bank balance. The thought of new job shoes is daunting. The thought of freelancing again has me frozen with imposter syndrome. Both pairs of shoes well worn before, but now they fit differently, squeezing into them, trying to make them fit over my mum shoes.
If I’m being completely honest, the friendship shoes just aren’t fitting well at all.
Pre-baby friendships proving really difficult to pick up again, despite the best of intentions to reacquaint myself with my much-loved faves.
New baby friendships proving difficult to make for various different reasons. I just can’t find many that are a dream to wear. I’m craving friendship shoes that fit well, the well worn and super comfy kind, effortless, reliable, exciting, supportive. I’ve found 2 who feel like they could be this for me. I know it’s not something that can be forced, especially when I can barely hold a conversation or string a sentence together any more, clumsily tripping over my laces. But I am extremely aware of the importance of having them. I’ve got to keep looking, keep trying new shoes on.
The party girl shoes are long gone, fortunately. But when things get too much, I can’t help reminisce about our times together, with yearnings for that chaotic old life of self-sabotage, mindless escapism and fewer responsibilities.
The depressed hot mess shoes also went to the back of the cupboard a while ago, following not far behind the party girl ones (coincidence?). Now, any mental health wobbles almost seem like a bit of a right of passage as a new mum. Something I’ve got a grip on, and leaning into exploring how I can be the best parent and role model possible.
The girlfriend ones? Well, now I’m a wife. Or whatever it is you call yourself after a civil ceremony. But given these shoes evolved from girlfriend to ‘wifey for lifey’ at 11-days postpartum we’ve not really had time to ourselves without being on-call, never mind celebrate with a meal out or honeymoon, so the shoes have barely had any much-needed attention. Even trying to have a conversation not featuring the baby or other immediate life stressors seems like an exhausting task.
So I’m sat here, looking at all of these shoes. The old ones, the new ones, the ones I’ll never wear again, the ones I hope I’ll grow into. But none of them feel quite right. Take all of these away, and I don’t know what I’m left with. I’ve lost my Jen shoes - the ones that most feel like me.
If you find them, please return to sender. I miss them.