I’ve never been comfortable in high heels. My childhood nickname was “Grace,” perhaps because I fell down the stairs at least twice a week. My mom once commented that I was the only woman she ever met who could fall off a pair of tennis shoes. While nursing my own sprained ankles, I always admired my older sister; she could wear spikes so tall they made me trip just looking at them.

A few years ago, I decided it was time to learn how to wear really high heels. Other women wear them, after all. It can’t be that hard, can it? So I went out and bought myself the most adorable pair of fancy dress heels you’ve ever seen. I wanted to wear them to a special event we had planned. Tippy-toes high heels, too. Not the almost-one-inch platforms I’d finally mastered in my thirties, but real high heels. Like the grownups wear. I can do this, I told myself. It’s a learnable skill.

To make a long story even longer, before I could risk wearing these things where anybody could see me, I had to figure out how to walk in them. It’s not as easy as some of you people make it look! This I know, because I tried. I really did. It took some work, too. After I had (almost) mastered the art of walking across a clean and level floor, it was time to try the hard stuff: leaving the house. But not where anyone could see me. At least, not at first. I had to figure out how to master the steps before I could risk that. One afternoon while I was alone, I stepped down my porch stairs wearing my two-inch practice shoes, fell off the heels, and landed on my face. Tore my stockings, skinned my knee, scraped my chin and bruised my ego. Sigh. But I really wanted to wear those super-high adorable shoes, so I picked myself up, cussed a bit, and tried again. And again. And again. Picture me hobbling up and down the front steps, mumbling to myself about how it simply can’t be that hard.

Yeah, I know. But this was important. It was worth a little effort to learn how to do it right.

Fast forward about a month. I’d finally mastered the basic walk, and could even (sometimes) make it up and down a flight of stairs without an unexpected somersault. That’s when it hit me: if I was going to wear high heels to this shindig, I was going to be uncomfortable. Maybe someone who’s worn high heels her whole life wouldn’t feel that way, but for me? Yeowch. My feet weren’t used to shoes shaped like that. Nor were my knees. Or my back. But really, I thought, who cares!? I needed to look cute! This was important, and it was worth a little discomfort to look good on this special occasion.

The big day finally rolled around. Cute shoes in place, I went. I looked fabulous. The shoes (did I mention they were adorable?) really did the trick for me. I felt like a million bucks. I even danced!

But man, did my feet let me know they were there. They didn’t hurt, exactly, but I sure knew they were there, all night long. It didn’t matter. This was important, so it was worth being a little uncomfortable to make the evening beautiful.

It’s funny what a woman will do to look good, isn’t it? How determined we can sometimes be, when it’s all about something important to us. How we will put up with feeling a little uncomfortable when it really matters. How we will work hard to stay in style…

I just wish we could always take our personal safety just as seriously as we take our fashion.