Which Shoe Fits?
A Reflection On Belonging, Becoming, And The Quiet Courage It Takes To Walk Yourself Home
I’ve always been fascinated by shoes. Not just for how they look, but for where they’ve been, where they can take us and what they hold.
Each pair in my wardrobe carries a story. Worn-in soles, faded stitching, scuffs from the paths I once walked with purpose. When I look at them, I don’t just see shoes. I see places of belonging or, at least, places I thought I belonged.
Firstly there is my comfy soft leather flip flops: from my years of travelling, still carrying the scent of sea air from Bali, and grains of white golden sand from Thailand. They remind me of freedom, of lightness, of a time when the world felt wide open and I could pack up my life in a single suitcase. But there’s also a quiet ache in them, the kind that comes from never staying still long enough to plant roots.
Next to them, my strong city boots: sleek, determined, a little pinched at the toes. They belonged to the version of me who could stride into meetings in Hong Kong, make things happen, capable, composed, and be whoever she needed to be. Those boots speak of ambition, polished edges, of proving myself, of knowing how to keep going even when the fit wasn’t quite right, can you perhaps relate?
Then there are my faithful, reliable trainers: scuffed at the heel, soles worn smooth from airports, city pavements, and mountain paths. They’re my adventure shoes, they say yes before I know how it will all unfold. In them, I’ve sprinted through monsoon rains in Hong Kong, chased to see the sun rising in Ibiza, and run toward possibilities rather than away from the past. They remind me that belonging can also be motion, that sometimes, we find home not in staying put, but in the freedom to explore.
Then (my almost) worn out walking boots: mud-streaked and totally honest. They belong to connecting me with nature, my long beautiful walks with Jake, Molly and now Alfie. These boots have carried me through seasons of uncertainty, heartbreak, and healing. They remind me that belonging isn’t always about where we are, but how we meet ourselves along the way.
And then perhaps my favourite pair of all, my bare feet: the version of me that loves to dance, to feel the earth beneath my toes, to stop, to turn, twist, to jump, and simply be me, free from expectation.
So this brings be to the question I’ve pondering recently. . .
Where Do I Really Belong?
What began as a whisper now feels some what louder, it demands by attention.
It arrived not as an existential crisis, but as a quiet reckoning:
Who am I now?
Where do I fit, when the roles I’ve played are shifting?
For years, I’ve worn shoes that served me, my career shoes, my carefree shoes, the shoes of someone who always holds it all together. They’ve shaped who I am. But as I step into this new season of my life (a few days into being 55 yrs young), the question is no longer. . .
Which shoes look right? It’s which shoes feel right?
Belonging in midlife often means returning to parts of ourselves we’ve left behind. The creative one. The dreamer. The one who danced barefoot without worrying what anyone thought.
It’s not about starting over, I believe it’s about softening into what’s true.
Sometimes, I feel we try on belonging the way we try on shoes, tentatively, uncertain if they’ll suit us or not. We step into a new friendship, a new project, a new version of ourselves. We walk a few paces and listen: Does this feel like me?
Belonging isn’t about fitting in. It’s about finding spaces, inwardly and outwardly, where you can deeply exhale. Where your edges are welcome, and your quiet is heard. Where you don’t have to pretend.
It’s in the friend who sees you clearly.
Your morning ritual that steadies you.
When work feels aligned with your values.
The place where your laughter lands softly.
And often, it’s in solitude. In that brave, sacred space where you stand still long enough to remember who you’ve been all along.
There’s courage in admitting when a shoe no longer fits.
When something that once felt right, whether that’s a role, a relationship, a way of living begins to pinch, or cause you discomfort.
To choose differently isn’t failure; it’s freedom.
I like to believe that belonging isn’t a fixed place after all. Maybe it’s a rhythm we keep returning to. The steady sound of our own feet meeting the ground, reminding us that we belong wherever we bring our full, unguarded, beautiful selves.
So, which shoe fits now?
Your answer might change tomorrow, and that’s the beauty of it.
Because real belonging isn’t found, it’s felt. It’s created, step by step, by the way we choose to walk through the world.
Our self-care practice this week is The Belonging Walk
Take yourself and your favourite shoes/ wellies (it’s been raining a lot in Somerset lately!) for a gentle walk in nature. There is no destination, no pace, no pressure.
As you walk, notice your feet connecting with the ground. Feel the rhythm of each step and ask quietly:
Where do I feel most at home in myself?
Notice your breath syncing with your steps. Feel how the ground supports you, always there for you, no matter where you decide to walk.
When you return home, write down in your journal three places, people, or moments where you’ve felt true belonging and one small way you can bring that feeling into your everyday life today.
Happy walking my dear friend! If you want further support I have a walking ritual offering you are welcome to check out here
Remember the hardest part is continuing to show up for yourself with all the things you have to do and accomplish today.
Thank you for continuing to show up here. It’s an absolute pleasure to share this time with you.
Thank you.
❤️ Namaste Tracey Xx
Ps. If you are interested I have created some guided meditations, and one is designed as a walking ritual. Click here if you wish to find out more
Please feel free to share You Are Not Alone with loved ones and friends. I trust whoever needs to read my musings will find them as a source of inspiration and hope. They are all written from my heart and offer the opportunity to dive deeper into truth, authenticity and trust.
Moving Inward = Self-care exercises designed to devote time to turning your gaze inwards and spend some precious ‘me time’ as often as possible. This helps to cultivate a beautiful conscious conversation with your body, mind & emotions. Through this process we get to practise listening, to be who we are, and creatively explore who we want to be. I hope the audios that I create with each essay helps you with this ❤️ how we move matters - where attention goes energy flows.
What does it say about me that my most memorable shoes are the ones that have been the most painful: the hiking boots that left me with such bad blisters when I hiked solo for four days around Mt. Hood, the second-hand pair of Merrill walking shoes that I bought in Bolivia that caused plantar fascitis, the cute red and white polka dotted Mary Jane tennis shoes "I had to have" when I was five even though I knew when I tried them on that they were too small. Again, blisters. But also some wonderful adventures.
I loved this because, well, I have a thing for shoes too. Not collecting them, but investing time and energy in them. I wear my walking shoes every day. I finally found a brand that supports my feet and posture while walking. My hiking boots are sturdy, so they feel heavy by the end of a day hike. My new favorite for exercise and errands is my barefoot shoes, which help my feet to use more muscles. A few years back, in my early 60s, I had my feet measured for a new pair of walking shoes and discovered they had stretched enough to change my shoe size. I have a few pairs of expensive dressy-type shoes that I have kept despite being the old size. The rule for wearing them is that I can only be sitting!