Six years ago, I lost my ability to walk.
And that’s when I found my confidence.
In a pair of shoes.
I didn’t grow up caring about fashion.
I was a gymnast. Then a soldier. Then a mom and gymnastics coach living with chronic pain. Shoes were functional, nothing more.
When I became a full-time wheelchair user, everything changed — in ways no one prepares you for.
The pain stopped. My world expanded. My freedom came back.
But something else happened too.
People stopped talking to me.
Not out of cruelty.
Out of uncertainty.
They talked to my husband.
My 8-year-old son.
Even my service dog.
Anyone but me.
Most of us were raised on:
“Don’t stare. Don’t ask questions. Don’t make someone uncomfortable.”
The intention was kindness.
The impact was silence.
Then one day, everything shifted because of a single post in a Buy Nothing group.
Someone was giving away a pair of two-tone, T-strap patent leather heels. Bold. Vintage. Perfect. And my size.
I slipped them on. Looked at my outfit. And thought:
“These shoes deserve better than this.”
So I changed.
And I went out.
And suddenly… people noticed.
Not my wheelchair.
Not my disability.
My shoes.
They smiled.
Complimented.
Started conversations.
Engaged with me.
So I experimented:
Bedazzled boots.
50s-style heels.
Glitter sneakers.
Sparkly flats.
Bold colors.
Unexpected shapes.
Every time, the same thing happened:
My shoes became a bridge.
A place for people to look without fear.
A place to start a conversation.
A human point of connection that disability had stolen from me.
Because when you use a wheelchair, your feet enter every room first.
My shoes are eye-level.
They are my introduction.
My calling card.
My invitation.
Today, I own over 50 pairs.
Not because I suddenly became “fashionable,”
but because shoes gave me back my visibility.
They helped people see me again.
I start every keynote with the same line — after giving a visual description of myself for accessibility:
“…and I have the best shoes in the room.”
It always gets a laugh.
But it’s also true.
Shoes helped me reclaim my place in the world.
They are how I connect.
How I start conversations.
How I remind people that disability isn’t something to look away from —
it’s something to include.
Sometimes accessibility looks like ramps and elevators.
Sometimes it looks like a fabulous pair of shoes.
If this resonated, I’d love to know:
What’s the one thing YOU wear that makes you feel like your most confident self?
Let’s celebrate it.
