I am a self-proclaimed body positive dancer, yogi, and fitness professional. And I’d like to personally admit that body positivity does NOT mean that you always have positive feelings about your body. I know I sure don’t. But today, I’d like to give a quick shoutout to my feet. Because for the past few weeks, because of them, I caught a glimpse of freedom. I got a taste of what it might be like to not waste valuable brain space fretting about what size my shorts are. Or analyzing how big my arms look in a photo. Let me explain a bit further. I’ve been working on a (pretty awesome) show with Chicago Tap Theatre called Changes. As a guest artist, I quickly realized that I was going to be learning a lot more choreography that I had imagined. While super grateful for the opportunity, there is no doubt that it was one of the most challenging things I’d ever had to learn. And after months of rehearsals, hours of extra practice, and plenty of blisters, we finally put this magical show onstage. (You can still catch it for one more weekend if you want to!)

I am still pretty amazed at what my feet were able to learn. All the intricate patterns of tap sounds, making different rhythms at various tempos and volumes, all set to any one of 13 different David Bowie songs. Sure, my brain probably deserves a little credit too, but overall I have to say that my feet are pretty awesome. Well, awesome, but not pretty at all. Not even kind of. The other day I suddenly realized that I don’t even care. I run around barefoot most of the time, especially in the summer. Flip flops are my footwear of choice. I showcase my blisters without giving it a second thought. Pedicures are rare for me, but when I do get them, I tell them to skip that “cheese grater” thing and leave my calluses alone. I paint my toenails anyway because I like pretty colors, and parade them around without caring that I could never EVER be hired as a foot model.

This little bit of apathy is huge for me, considering I’ve spent most of my life trying to change my body. Wishing it were different. I have memories of second grade me sitting with my legs propped up a little so my thighs wouldn’t squish together. Middle school me wearing a super tight sports bra so that I’d look flat chested. Why did I even want that? I spent years in dance wishing I had willowy ballerina arms instead of my natural “gun show” look. Most women can probably relate to this feeling. I mean, how could you not? Every time you turn on the TV or open a magazine, you see ads trying to sell you magical miracle products. Pills and potions that will somehow “fix” all of the things that are wrong with your appearance.

As a society, we tie so much worth up into our looks.

There are so many stereotypes that are attached to how we look, that we start to judge ourselves on a deeper level if we don’t measure up. The first thing that comes to mind is the stereotype that thin=motivated & hardworking and that fat=lazy & unhealthy. Deep down we all (hopefully) know that this is not a universal truth. Yet we continue to beat ourselves up if we can’t fit into the same jeans we wore 10 years ago. Our bodies don’t tell the whole story when it comes to all of our good qualities, personality traits, and the things that we’ve been through in our lives. But sometimes, in small ways, they tell a little bit of a story about who we are and where we’ve been.

My beat up feet have a story too. They show the wear and tear of all the years I’ve spent dancing on them. They show all the hours of practice and all the times I had to break in a new pair of shoes. Do I think they are gorgeous? Nope. Do I hate them? Not really. Do I keep them hidden in boots on hot summer days? No effing way! They are what they are, and if anyone tries to criticize their lack of baby-softness, whatever. I know that they do not say anything about whether or not I have “let myself go”, my social status, or my ability to be a good friend, teacher, or wife.

So what’s the point?

The whole point I’m trying to make is that my feet story can serve as a metaphor for every part of ourselves that we aren’t crazy about. That includes things like our butts, thighs, bellies, and biceps (hey, some of us get hung up about unusual things!) I’m not saying that we have to love every part of ourselves or “embrace” our flaws. However, I am starting to discover that maybe it’s possible to be neutral about them. Or at the very least go about our lives without letting self-conscious thoughts ruin our experiences in life. I’m starting to accept that body positivity does NOT mean that you always have positive feelings about your body. Not at all. But I do think it helps to own our stories, and respect the awesome things our bodies do for us every single day. If you are sitting here reading this post, and your worries are so few that you have space in your brain to pick apart your appearance, your body is probably doing most things right. TRUTH. (mic drop)

There is a saying that the opposite of love is indifference. But I think that in this case that indifference is actually the opposite of hate. Screw “loving our bodies” (gag). Wouldn’t it be nice to just not care about our looks? This summer, I say wear the bikini, the crop top, the short shorts, the flip flops (sans pedicure), or whatever strikes your fashion fancy. Go to the beach, get up and dance, or do some squats, without worrying about whether or not your butt looks like the peach emoji. Then let me know–what part of your body can you start to care a little less about? How can that create momentum to let go of other hangups and live life more freely?