Barefoot on the Carpet

Stepping out of my comfort zone, I removed my slippers and stood on the carpet with my bare feet. It is actually a carpet runner that leads from my front door to the kitchen, intended to keep the dogs from creating wet footprints after coming in from the snow. The rug was warm, textured, and felt good on my feet. Then I cried.

These were healing tears. Not exactly sad, not exactly happy, but healing.

My ex-husband is a hoarder. We were married for 32 years, and all that time, I made adjustments. As children of divorced parents, we both had very strong opinions regarding divorce and making a marriage work. It took me way too long to realize that the changes we were making in our lives were not headed in the same direction. Instead of working and growing together, we became more independent until I finally realized that we had not actually been partners in the relationship for much longer than I care to admit. As he hoarded, I adjusted. I boxed things up, put them in storage, tried to make room in other parts of the house, and then asked, pleaded, and demanded that he not add anything to the areas I was trying to empty for better use. It didn’t work. By the time I finally gave up, there were multiple rooms in the home that remained unusable. Cleaning was nearly impossible as there was not room to put anything, pathways were covered in dirt brought in by the dogs, and nearly everywhere there was evidence of a rodent problem.

Even before it became that bad, I always wore shoes. I felt like my home was never clean, and the floors never safe enough to walk on. It may not have been as bad as I felt it was … the kids often went barefoot. When we moved to our first purchased home, the floors were in rough shape. I was the only family member who managed not to get splinters in my feet. I wanted to sand and refinish the floors, but “stuff” was place in each room before I was given the opportunity to work on the flooring. “Stuff” is my word for all those things that he wanted, or thought he needed, that took up space. Some of it was actually really nice … until there was no room and it got piled under other stuff and the mice chewed or peed on it, or it was broken.

Now, I am in my own home, without the hoarder. It is difficult for me to feel like things are clean sometimes. I don’t know the people who lived here previously. Did they mop the kitchen and clean the walls? Obviously, someone had pets who did not always make it outside on time, staining the carpeted areas. My steam cleaner is unable to remove all the stains, but at least it doesn’t smell.

The runner I stepped on with my bare feet is new. Brand new. I bought it two weeks ago, rolled it out, and admired the added look of warmth it brought to the entryway in my home. The home I don’t have to share with a hoarder. The home I don’t have to demand someone create a path for a walkway. The home with space to dance in the kitchen. The home where the mice have realized they are not welcome and can not co-habitat with me.

It felt nice. I wiggled my toes pretending I was standing on sand. I focused on the texture of the ribbing under the balls of my feet. I’m not yet ready to be barefoot everywhere like I was as a child. But it felt good. This one small act of being barefoot for just a few minutes. I didn’t even realize I was broken in this way until that moment. I convinced myself that my desire to wear shoes or slippers at all times was just a personality quirk, like some people who *(consider any unique characteristic).* But now I know I am broken. Yet I also know that I am healing.

Whatever characteristic you have that makes you feel broken can be fixed. What characteristic did you think of when reading the part in parenthesis? What personality quirk might you have that has made you feel a little not quite normal? Do you know what caused that quirk to develop? How would it impact your life if it was changed? For me, eventually going barefoot throughout my entire home is not going to change my entire life. But it will feel nice. I will feel a little more free, like I am not being held back by someone else’s choices or forced to fit into the box that they have designed for me. It will mean nothing to anyone else and it won’t change who I am. But my happiness meter moved up just a little bit, and to me, that is important.