I was dressed and ready—hair styled, outfit chosen—yet there I was, stuck on something deceptively small: putting on my shoes. For most people, it is a forgettable step in their morning routine. For me, it is often a negotiation—sometimes a battle—with my own body.
Swelling, spasticity, rigidity—these aren’t just words; they are realities that turn ordinary tasks into moments of persistence. Some days, my foot takes on a life of its own, swelling to twice its usual size. On those days, shoes are less about style and more about strategy.
Swelling, in this context, is more than temporary puffiness. It signals underlying issues: water retention, immobility in the joint between the foot and ankle, or dietary factors. That joint—the talocrural joint, where the foot meets the ankle—is what allows smooth movement. For me, it often feels locked, immobile despite my best efforts.
Spasticity, the tightening of muscles, adds another layer of complexity. My leg is uncooperative, refusing to bend or move the way I need it to. Rigidity only compounds the challenge, making my body feel like it is working against itself. These are the realities of life with cerebral palsy, where even the simplest actions—like slipping on a shoe—become moments that demand creativity and patience.
The Battle of the Shoe
For me, putting on a pair of shoes isn’t just a task—it is a process. It starts with pulling my leg up to my knee using my hands, a motion that requires a great deal of upper body strength because my leg resists bending. Spasticity pulls back, as if my muscles have their own agenda. Some days, the resistance is so strong that I lose my grip and have to start over.
To make things a little easier, I rely on tools like a weight band. A rubber weight band is a thick, sturdy resistance band that forms a continuous loop, designed to provide adjustable resistance during strength training, stretching, and rehabilitation exercises. Its smooth, durable rubber surface allows for flexibility and comfort, while its resistance allows me to pull my leg up to my knee.
Wrapping it around my foot and leg, I can pull my foot closer while keeping my other hand free to slide the shoe into place. It’s a process that works—most of the time. On particularly difficult days, it can take multiple attempts before I get the shoe on.
When nothing works, I simply do what I need to do. Sometimes, that means walking outside with one shoe on and one off, heading to a waiting car where a friend helps me finish the task. In their hands, it takes seconds—a reminder that even when I adapt, it’s okay to ask for help.
Mismatched Shoes: Adaptation in Action
As I approach 50, swelling has become a more frequent occurrence. The reasons vary—diet, water retention, and the stubborn immobility of that talocrural joint. The result is always the same: shoes that no longer fit the way they should.
On days when one foot swells beyond recognition, I rely on mismatched shoes. One shoe fits my typical-sized foot, while the other is larger or looser to accommodate the foot that needs more space. It’s not the perfect solution, but it works. People notice, of course. Sometimes they ask, “How do you manage?” My answer is simple: I adapt.
Adapting often involves waiting for the spasticity and rigidity to subside, allowing my body to find its rhythm. It might mean using a weight band or repeating an action until the shoe finally fits. At times, it simply means accepting that mismatched shoes are the best option for the day.
One Step at a Time
Mismatched shoes have become more than a practical solution; they reflect how I navigate the world. They symbolize problem-solving and the willingness to meet my body where it is, not where I wish it could be.
They carry a simple truth: what works may not always be perfect, and that’s okay—it is progress. Life isn’t about perfect steps; it is about taking the next one, whatever it looks like.
Next time you notice mismatched shoes, consider that they might not be a mistake. Sometimes, they are part of adapting to life’s challenges. For me, they serve as a reminder that progress doesn’t need to be flawless—it just needs to keep moving forward. Mismatched shoes prove that things don’t always need to align, as long as the next step is taken.
