What my crooked toes have taught me about love.

I don’t like my toes.  I never have.  In fact, I was so insecure about my toes that I didn’t start wearing flip flops until my freshman year of college.  For many of us, there is something about ourselves that we don’t like.  For the most part, we are the only ones that even notice these “imperfections”, but notice we do.  And my toe reveal in my American Politics class freshman year of college, is akin to exposing yourself in a relationship.  It’s braving someone seeing you.  It was mid-year 2009 and I was especially wary of anyone seeing me at this point.

People are complicated.  I am complicated.  People have baggage.  I have baggage.  I was the picture of insecurity. I remember one of the first things that I thought of once my ex-fiance left me was what if he(s) (future guys) doesn’t like the way that I kiss?!  What if he(s) doesn’t like the way that I smell?!  Holy crap, what if these future guys that I date don’t find me particularly likeable, or charming, or what if I’m not pretty enough?!  When did I get freckles on my face?!  Are Asian people even supposed to have freckles?!  The world’s possibilities opened up to me, but having been away from the dating scene since spring of 2004 (it was about to hit Fall of 2009), the possibilities terrified me.  My fiance just walked away from me.  Dropped me like a bad habit.  Blindsided me.  On the day that I got the proofs for our wedding’s save the dates.  Broke our dinner plans and didn’t come home till after 1:00 AM.  Came home just to run over my heart with a god damn truck.  Then, a month after we broke up, someone told me he was seeing someone that we’ve both known for a few years.  I cried harder that day than any other day.  I wasn’t exactly feeling good enough for anything at the time.

In October 2009, I met Someone.  Ok, granted, at this point, I had met about 8 someones.  There was actually an encounter the same night with another someone before I met this particular Someone (ask me the next time you see me, it’s a funny story).  But this Someone was different.  We talked for an hour a few days before we went on our first date.  Our first date was the best I have ever had.  Outside of the fact that we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other, the conversation flowed freely.  We covered any and every topic, including all the ones you’re not supposed to bring up.  We were having such a great time that we continued on to brunch the next day, couldn’t tear ourselves apart, but  eventually parted ways at 7:00 PM.  It was Halloween and we both had a party to go to.

I was seeing the 8 other someones for a few more weeks while the Someone and I started dating, but it quickly became clear that there was no competition.  As great as everything was going, I couldn’t get that insecure voice out of my head.  Has he seen that chicken pox scar underneath my left eye?  What about that colorless mole that’s making an appearance on the tip of my nose?  Oh god, has he see my toes?  I need to curl then under more.  Maybe I should start wearing socks around the house.  On top of that, I couldn’t fathom a real commitment at this point.  Four months in and I hadn’t even called Someone my boyfriend.  But through it all, not once did He push.  He always made me feel good enough.  Honestly, by this time, I loved him, and without ever having to say it, I knew he loved me too.  I was still so worried about letting someone in.  I was so worried that he would notice all those imperfections that I had, and just walk away.  I was so worried about feeling vulnerable that I couldn’t let myself imagine him wanting to stay for a while, let alone permanently.

Then one night, He asked me about my last relationship.  He wanted to know what happened, how it ended.  This was something that I was afraid of.  To tell Him.  To tell Him that I was the one that got left behind.  Practically at the altar.  That my ex-fiance just threw me away one day.  That I felt dispensable.  That He would see me as dispensable.  And as we laid there facing each other, I told him.  Slowly.  Carefully.  Guardedly.  I don’t think he blinked.  He just stroked my face and listened.  I cried.  I was surprised by the tears.  More importantly, I didn’t want Him to misconstrue the tears for a longing that no longer existed.  I cried because I knew I didn’t deserve the way that I felt.  I cried because I knew that love wasn’t supposed to make you question who you were, but it did then.  I cried because I knew that love wasn’t supposed to take what you share with them, then use it against you.  I cried because I let someone treat me that way.  I was mourning the self that I had lost.  I cried because I realized in that moment, I wasn’t lost anymore.  The tears didn’t scare him away, he just held my face in his hands, kissed my cheeks, and told me that he was sorry that someone had done all those things to me.  He told me that he would never hurt me, and for once, I really believed it.

Everyday, I still have to work at making myself vulnerable, but it’s become easier over time.  After finding and reading the journal I started a couple of years ago, I am grateful for how far my happiness and confidence with myself has come.  As me and Justin’s two year anniversary fast approaches, there isn’t a single day that goes by that I don’t think about how lucky I am.  I feel lucky to be able to freely love someone that much, and that someone loves me back equally, unquestionably.  For the first time, I know that I have unconditional love.  As for my toes, Justin likes to make fun of them.  He likes to make fun of how my big toe leans in to the rest of the toe clan.  That my toes look like alien toes.  That if I lost my hands, atleast I have my crooked toes to replace them.  But you know what?  Even though he’s seen my toes, even though they’re not his favorite part of my body either, he doesn’t care about changing them.  Or me.  When he makes fun of my toes, I’m able to look at them in all their crooked glory, look at Him, shrug my shoulders, and not care.  You know why?  Because love doesn’t care about crooked toes.  This love has taught me over and over that I will never be punished for being who I am.

Embrace your imperfections.  No one really cares or notices that you have them.  In the famous words of Dr. Seuss – “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.”

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