I got some fantastic advice from a friend the other day. We were having morning tea in a trendy new café and after listening to me complain (for the Zillionth time) about not looking right she turned to me and said; “Nina, you need to get over yourself!” I thought to myself, “have you never read my blog?” I am the most self-obsessed person around. If I did that I would have nothing to blog about.
I did take her point though. Here I was, a fabulous disabled woman (see I told you I was self-obsessed) who writes a blog about accepting and being confident about her disability, and I had become fixated on hiding my legs at all costs. Why? Because like many women the world over I was embarrassed about them. Why was I embarrassed about them? Because they are such an obvious advertisement of my disability. Pew! Does anyone else smell a hypocrite?
As luck would have it my uniform was in desperate need of replacement and my fingers had become increasingly non-compliant with buttons (not sure if you’d call that luck). So I asked if I could wear my own clothes to work from now on, and luckily my request was granted.
Not having worn anything above the ankle since my school uniform (a gorgeous teal dress that stopped above the knee), I didn’t actually own anything that wasn’t “Amish” in length, and not being sure whether I would actually wear it, I wasn’t keen on buying anything. So I did what any fabulously self-obsessed woman would do. I hiked up my dress (just like we used to do in high school), had a photo taken and popped it onto Facebook with a caption asking if my legs were fit for public viewing. To my surprise, I got lots of positive feedback, tips and encouragement.
That was it. It was now or never…
I raided Mum’s wardrobe and for the next week I went everywhere with my legs on display. The world didn’t stop turning, no one threw up (at least not in front of me) and no one was blinded by my extremely white legs. It was extremely liberating and of course has resulted in my own wardrobe now being full of skirts and dresses that are all above the knee. I even had the one from the photo shortened.
Wearing skirts isn’t always a picnic though. The waxing involved is a night mare (not to mention very expensive) and I have quickly learnt the importance of sitting and entering/exiting a vehicle like a lady. Contrary to (my) popular opinion there is such a thing as too much Nina.
At the end of the day I owe it to myself and those who heed my message to practice what I preach.
My legs are my legs. A lot of blood, sweat and tears have gone into getting them to where they are today. Yes they are scarred, they are odd-looking and the deformity in my feet is very obvious if I show them off.
But you know what? I don’t care. I am having fun playing about with different looks and I am happy with what I’ve come up with. No one else is really interested anyway and if they are, well that’s their business not mine.