On a stormy morning in May, my fifth day in Italy I was walking into a convenient store, and a man was coming out. A giant glass door opened and the wind caught it. The heavy piece swung fast on it’s hinges and crashed into me. The brute of the force was stopped by my two big toes in my soft suede boots. The pain was unbelievable, but I sucked it up and soldiered on knowing the injury would take many months to heal.
Indeed, it has. The top nails had died off and were barely hanging on. One came off in North Carolina and the other came off last week in Belize. Underneath, the new nail has been slowly growing in. I started to see these poor things a lot like my recovery and it’s facade. While the shiny gel coat looked great on the outside, beneath was this rough, tender, and ugly regrowth.
I’m trying to put on fierce, strong exterior, of course, and take on the world. So many are genuinely surprised to learn I still am fragile and have repercussions from the last year.
I’ve been trying to hide it for so long, what can I say? Even gel polish chips.