Being

My middle toe on my left foot is a survivor.

Growing up in Jamaica, it was normal to play barefoot – to style your hair in an updo, get completely dressed in a frilly frock, and wear absolutely no shoes. 

One day, while I was playing bat and run with my siblings and cousins, I bat the ball, ran towards first base, and hit my toe on a rock. I fell face forward, and a burning sensation sprinted to and fro between my feet and brain. I reached for the origin of the pain and squeezed my left foot to stop the pulsing. Thick maroon blood leaked through my hands. 

My grandmother washed my foot, poured Iodine, and dressed it with a piece of an old shirt. She also told me my toenail was missing – It was ripped out of its bed. 

My nail never grew back the same. A thick sensitive matter replaced it. When I was younger, I covered it with socks, or put my left foot behind my right. As an adult, nail polish is a lifesaver. When it is time to file it, I brace myself for the shivers it will send throughout my entire body. 

Several years ago, as I stood with my feet on the warm earth, I had an epiphany. I could have lost so much more. Instead of a toenail, I could have lost my toe. 

So many of us have wasted time working against our physical beauty rather than working with it. We pick and pluck towards perfection, but yet here we are, BEING US, with all our imperfections. 

Rocking out being Me.

♥

Kadine

Writing Prompt inspired by Bella Grace Magazine