Held, Not Corrected
I learned to define ugliness through the body before I learned to feel pain.
A single image lodged itself in my mind and never left. From that moment on, my body became something to monitor, correct, and prevent from becoming visible. Avoidance felt like control. Distance felt like protection.
Pain arrived later, quietly and persistently. What had once been fear turned into vigilance. I learned the medical language for my condition and discovered that it was hereditary, disproportionately carried by women, and impossible to undo. The body was no longer an individual failure, but a shared inheritance.
Unable to change what I was given, I turned to objects. Shoes promised correction, alignment, relief. I trusted their logic and wore them daily. None of them worked. What they offered instead was delay. Pain was managed, concealed, aestheticized, but never resolved.
Over time, resentment replaced hope. The body became something to hide. Visibility felt like exposure. Correction felt endless.
This work does not attempt to heal or improve the body. It makes pressure visible. It holds the moment where endurance becomes structure, and where shame, inheritance, and design converge. What protrudes here is not only bone, but a long-trained impulse to contain what refuses to disappear.
Product Walk
