The Story of a Shoe

My feet are swollen, and my work shoes will not go on.

The laces hang loose on either side. Each tongue has been pulled forward and each opening stretched as wide as possible, but more room is not the answer. The swelling adds volume to my feet, but there is still space inside the shoes. Getting my feet there is the problem. Neither leg can lift high enough to clear the back of a shoe.

Even when my hands help close the remaining inches, stiffness in both ankles creates another obstacle. My feet cannot point forward and downward. Without that slight change in angle, my toes cannot enter first. They press against the edge instead. One shoe sits open beneath the first foot. The other waits beside it.

Spastic cerebral palsy originates in the brain, not the muscles. Cerebral palsy is caused by abnormal development of the brain or damage to the developing brain that affects a person’s ability to control movement, balance, posture, and muscles (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention [CDC], 2026; National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke [NINDS], 2026).

With spastic cerebral palsy, increased muscle tone causes the muscles to remain stiff. The intention to move is clear, but the body cannot always coordinate the movement required to complete the task. Spasticity is an involuntary increase in muscle tone.

For me, it means that the muscles around my ankles can tighten against the movement I am trying to make. Pulling a foot harder or faster toward the shoe does not necessarily help. Instead of yielding so the foot can point, the muscles catch and hold it in place.

My ankles feel rigid, but “rigid” describes the experience of stiffness rather than a separate diagnosis. Increased muscle tone is a defining feature of spastic cerebral palsy, although its effects and severity vary from person to person (CDC, 2026; NINDS, 2026). In this room, that stiffness is visible in the locked angle of the ankle. The movement begins, the muscles tighten, and the toes press into the shoe rather than entering it.

The sequence itself is short: lift one foot, point the toes, and slide forward. Then repeat the process with the other foot. My mind understands each step, but the muscles do not.

A weighted band, used here as a lifting strap, is wrapped around my foot because two hands are being asked to do the work of three. One hand has to lift the leg and prevent it from slipping out of position. The other must hold the shoe open, place it beneath the foot, and push it on. Without the band, there is no secure way to maintain the lift while also controlling the shoe.

Wrapped firmly around my foot, the band creates a handle where none exists. Gripping its ends gives one hand enough leverage to raise the leg and keep the foot near the opening. That hand cannot let go. If it does, the leg drops and the position is lost. My other hand pulls the tongue forward, steadies the shoe, and works it over my toes.

Even with the band, the tasks compete. Pulling upward helps the foot clear the back of the shoe, but the shoe must also be held at the correct angle. Reaching farther for it can weaken the lift. Stabilizing the leg leaves only one hand to spread the opening and force the shoe forward. The band allows two hands to attempt the sequence, but it cannot supply the missing ankle movement. For a moment, the position looks right. Then the toes catch against the opening.

Height is only the first part of the problem. Once the foot reaches the shoe, the ankle must release enough to let the toes angle forward and slightly downward. That shift would allow the front of the foot to enter before the heel follows. Instead, spasticity holds the ankle stiff. The foot reaches the opening almost straight on and presses against the edge. Looser laces cannot correct the angle. A wider opening cannot release the ankle, although it may reduce the amount of ankle movement required to enter the shoe.

The foot is lowered, and the process begins again. This time, the shoe is brought closer. The shorter distance requires less lift, but it leaves little room to guide the toes downward. Moving the shoe farther away improves the angle while placing it beyond the height the leg can reach. Lowering it reduces the lift, yet the new position leaves no space for the foot to slide forward.

Each adjustment changes the problem without resolving it. The distance is visible, the angle exact, and the sequence familiar from years of repetition. Each foot must rise, turn, and move forward. Knowing where the motion breaks down, however, does not provide control over the muscles needed to complete it.

The distance between intention and movement can be difficult to explain. In my mind, both shoes are already on. Each foot has lifted, the toes have slipped inside, and the heels have settled into place. Yet my body lags behind the completed thought, held at the ankles by muscles too tight to complete the motion.

Another attempt begins. One hand grips the band and pulls upward while the leg strains to help. The other hand spreads the shoe open, guides it beneath the foot, and pushes forward. At the same time, the ankle must point and the foot must remain steady. Instead, the muscles tighten, the angle shifts, and the toes stop at the opening once more. Even if this shoe goes on, the entire process must be repeated on the other side.

By now, the shoes are no longer simply the final step in getting dressed. They are where the morning comes to a halt. My clothes are on and my plans are set, but moving forward depends on whether two swollen feet can clear the narrow openings and turn just enough to slide inside.

Once the shoes are on, no one will know what it took to get them there. No one will see the weighted band used to help lift each foot or know how many times the toes caught against the openings. The shoes will hide the stiffness and swelling, along with the effort behind an ordinary task.

The failed attempts leave little evidence. The calculations behind each change in position are just as difficult to see. After each attempt, I decide whether to lift my leg higher, change the angle of my foot, lower my heel, or widen the opening of the shoe. I loosen the band when it pulls too tightly and tighten it again when I need more support. Every adjustment is deliberate.

When the movement still will not come, trying harder is not the only response. The search has to expand until it includes an approach that fits the way my body moves. Different shoes may reduce the movement required, but my feet would still need to lift and point. Another person could help guide them, although assistance cannot release the muscles holding both ankles stiff. Waiting might allow the swelling to ease, but it would also change whatever had been planned for the day.

Adaptation begins with immediate choices, but it should not end there. A shoemaker may be able to widen the openings, alter the backs, or add closures that allow the shoes to open farther. Those changes would not release my ankles, but they might reduce the movement required to get each foot inside.

An occupational therapist, orthotist, rehabilitation specialist, or assistive technology professional may suggest a different way to position each leg or stabilize the feet. They may also identify a more manageable way to handle the shoes with only two hands. The best solution could involve modified footwear, a different tool, a new technique, or a combination of approaches that has not yet been considered.

No single adaptation works for every body, or even for the same body every day. Swelling changes. Muscle tone changes. The two sides may not respond in the same way. A method that works for one foot may fail on the other because the angle, resistance, or available movement is different. Finding a workable approach requires experimentation.

The weighted band is one result of that experimentation. It gives one hand enough leverage to support each leg while the other hand guides the shoe into place. Although it assists with lifting, it cannot provide the ankle movement needed to complete the task.

This experience raises a broader question about footwear design. Most shoes require the wearer to lift the foot, point the toes, and slide the foot through the opening. If someone cannot complete that sequence, the shoe could provide another way for the foot to enter.

Independence depends on having meaningful choices, effective tools, and products that accommodate different ways of moving. Adaptive design recognizes that an ordinary task does not have to be completed in only one way. What other needs might become visible if adaptation were treated not as a special feature, but as part of how everyday products are designed?

References

Product Disclaimer

The products and companies listed below are included solely as examples of adaptive design features that may make dressing easier. Their inclusion does not constitute an endorsement, recommendation, sponsorship, or paid promotion. No manufacturer or retailer has sponsored this content.

Product features, availability, and suitability may change. A product that works well for one person may be ineffective, uncomfortable, or unsafe for another. Individual needs may vary based on movement, strength, balance, dexterity, sensation, swelling, muscle tone, orthotics, and other factors. Readers should evaluate products carefully and, when appropriate, consult an occupational therapist, orthotist, rehabilitation specialist, assistive technology professional, or other qualified provider before selecting adaptive footwear or clothing.

Examples of Adaptive Footwear and Clothing

These products illustrate different ways design can make dressing easier. They are examples, not recommendations. A feature that removes one barrier may not address another, and its usefulness depends on the person’s movement, strength, balance, dexterity, sensation, swelling, and muscle tone.

Skechers Hands Free Slip-ins

Skechers Hands Free Slip-ins use a structured heel and heel pillow to hold the shoe open as the foot enters. This can reduce bending, pulling, tying, and the need to use both hands.

The wearer must still lift and position the foot, clear the opening, and apply enough pressure to enter the shoe. A structured heel may hold its shape, but it can also create another edge for stiff or extended toes to clear.

Full link: https://www.skechers.com/technologies/comfort-technologies/slip-ins/

Nike Go FlyEase

Nike Go FlyEase uses a hinged sole that remains open for entry and closes when the wearer steps down. The shoe can be reopened by pressing on the heel with the other foot.

Because the shoe changes shape, the foot does not have to pass through a fixed opening. This may reduce bending, pulling, and tying, although the wearer must still position the foot and operate the mechanism.

Full link: https://www.nike.com/flyease/go-flyease

Other Adaptive Footwear

Zappos Adaptive offers footwear with features such as wide openings, adjustable straps, zippers, removable insoles, additional depth, stretchable uppers, and backs that open.

The value is in the range of choices. Someone may need room for swelling, space for an orthotic, a one-handed closure, or an opening that does not require the ankle and toes to move through a narrow space. No single design can meet every need.

Full link: https://www.zappos.com/c/adaptive

Adaptive Clothing

Tommy Adaptive includes clothing with alternative closures, adjustable openings, pull-up loops, brace-friendly designs, sensory-conscious construction, and garments shaped for seated wear.

These features change how clothing opens, fastens, and fits. They may reduce the fine-motor control required by buttons, provide room for stiff joints or orthotics, and limit bunching or pressure while sitting.

Full link: https://usa.tommy.com/en/tommy-adaptive

Discover more from Wiley's Walk

Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.

Did you like the blog? Leave a comment!