Published On: April 15th, 20210 Comments

” I sat on my bedroom floor in front of the closet, legs tucked up under me and a big trash bag next to me. I held a pair of simple black patent leather pumps, heels worn from use. I looked at the bag, already holding several pairs of heels, then back at the shoes in my hand, and began to cry.

Those heels held so many memories for me: standing me confident and tall as I was being sworn in as a probation officer in a courtroom in Alaska, dangling from my hand as I walked Seattle streets barefoot after a night out with friends, helping me strut across the stage during a dance performance.

But on that day, instead of slipping them on my feet for my next adventure, I was throwing them in a bag destined for Goodwill.

Just days before, I’d been given two diagnoses: fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue syndrome. Those were added to the list that’d been growing for several months.

Having those words on paper from a medical specialist made the situation all too real. I could no longer deny that there was something serious happening in my body. I couldn’t slip on my heels and convince myself that maybe this time I wouldn’t be crippled over in pain in less than an hour.”

Author: Angie Ebba


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