Yes, I am Always Barefoot

But I hadn't always been barefoot, here's my journey:

First off, let me clarify: I'm not radically against shoes, they can be beneficial tools, but they should not be a requirement. We don’t wear gloves all day, every day, we wear them when we feel it's necessary. We don’t wear helmets 24/7 because we might bump our heads. Yet, society treats shoes as if they are essential at all times, rather than recognizing them as tools for specific situations. Shoes should be treated like any other piece of protective gear—worn only when the situation genuinely demands it, not as a default. What qualifies as necessary varies from person to person, but for me, necessary doesn't mean minor discomfort or inconvenience—it’s about true necessity, a matter of survival rather than mere annoyance. 

Now, onward through my barefoot journey: During my many years of service in the Navy, as anyone in the service is well aware, we are more often in uniform than not. As such, being in uniform requires wearing rigid, poorly designed dress shoes, or heavy, suffocating, steel-toed boots, etc. The rare times when not wearing either, I found myself wearing flip-flops. They were the only solution I thought possible, but they also caused other undesired side-effects. You see, wearing flip-flops is hard on the human body, they're hard to keep on without significant muscle contraction in the legs and feet, they slip off (especially if feet suffer from hyperhidrosis like mine), and they make a lot of noise, hence their name. I tried barefoot shoes too, but they came with their own set problems also created from hyperhidrosis and unnatural form (although, more natural than "normal" shoes). 

For years, I lived with a quiet but persistent discomfort—one that I couldn't quite put into words. It was more than just sore feet or aching joints; it was a sense that something fundamental about the way I moved through the world was off. It was as if, deep in my subconscious, I had always known that shoes weren’t meant to be worn all the time. That my feet—my connection to surroundings—were being stifled, restricted, denied their natural purpose.

But like so many others, I ignored it. I dismissed the thought as impractical, impossible even. After all, society insists that shoes are necessary, that bare feet are vulnerable, unprotected, even improper. And so I endured. Years of suffering, years of pushing through pain that I thought was just a part of life.

Yet, that quiet knowing never faded. It lingered beneath the surface, a whisper I couldn't silence. And then, at some point, something shifted. I was outside watching the kids play. I noticed that my youngest child (at that time, they were around 4 or 5) could run across a rock-strewn driveway with hardly any care. I couldn't walk across a hardwood floor without feeling every grain of sand. My curiosity, once buried under years of conditioning, became impossible to ignore. That curiosity became an obsession. I was inspired by those I read about online who had the same issues I had. 

So, after more years of finding no relief from flip-flops and especially from shoes, I decided to just stop wearing them. But it wasn't just on a whim and it wasn't without research. I found out what I needed most, to prevent the problems I was experiencing, was constant air circulation and reliance on a more natural mobility in my feet and toes that only being barefoot could offer. 

And to my glorious surprise, it wasn't that hard to go days, then weeks, then almost ever, without wearing shoes. And once I finally took the first step—barefooted—the truth was undeniable. As a matter of fact, the biggest hurdle I've faced on this journey has been my perception of society's perception of me being barefoot in public spaces. This mental model is not baseless or devoid of some truth. Growing up, we’re taught that shoes are a must for all situations—whether it's to "protect" our feet or simply to adhere to social expectations. 

There is still a deep-rooted stigma that bare feet are unhygienic or unsightly, and often don't take into account the true needs of our bodies. It's something I’ve had to come to terms with. It wasn’t easy at first, I struggled with the anxiety of going against social norms. I worried about judgment, about the looks and comments from strangers. But then I realized something: the discomfort of social pressure is nothing compared to the physical pain and suffering caused by wearing shoes all the time. Honestly, the public wasn't as bad as it seemed when I first started. Yes there are some people that think I and other like me are disgusting (as they sneer, snide, or remark behind our backs, but loud enough to know we hear them). I do believe it's because they think my feet are like their feet: smelly and disgusting - which is caused by shoes; mine are no longer a problem for me or anyone else's olfactory bulb.

Why should I endure aching feet, stiff joints, and restricted movement just to conform to an expectation that serves no real purpose? The more I embraced barefoot living, the more I understood that my well-being matters more than fitting into an arbitrary standard. Over time, the anxiety has mostly faded, replaced by the freedom and relief that come with walking naturally.

The first time I went barefoot, truly barefoot, it was like experiencing the world in an entirely new way—like suddenly being able to see in color after a lifetime in black and white, or hearing music for the first time. The sensations were overwhelming. Every step was a flood of information: the texture of the ground, the temperature shifts, the unevenness of natural terrain. It was uncomfortable, even painful at times. But I soon realized—this wasn’t pain from injury, it was pain from awakening.

Shoes had dulled my senses for so long that my feet had forgotten how to feel. They had been cushioned, restricted, and weakened, forced into unnatural positions and denied their true function. But as I continued walking, something remarkable happened. The noise began to fade. My feet adapted. The pain transformed into awareness. I began to move as nature intended—lightly, fluidly, with my body fully engaged in every step.

After a few weeks of not wearing shoes, a miraculous thing happened to me: everything (hips, knees, back) stopped hurting after years of dealing with pain in those areas! So now that I don't wear shoes, I stopped hurting, stopped having my family have to deal with a terrible smell (sorry, but that's what shoes and hyperhidrosis lead to), and I don't have to spend gobs of money on special orthotics or shoes.

No more shoes, no more shoe-caused problems, such as, sweaty feet, bunions, ingrown toenails, athlete's foot, etc. and how smell is a thing of the past. I also don't have to spend money on shoes. My feet are my shoes and they are the most natural man-made material know to man. My shoes are flexible, last forever, waterproof, dry quickly, and are the most comfortable shoe I've ever worn. You'd be amazed to what the human body can adapt with great success! 

Going barefoot has done wonders for my body, from relieving long-standing pain in my hips, knees, and back to improving my overall movement and proprioception. When you stop relying on shoes to cushion every step, your body becomes more attuned to its environment. This not only helps prevent injury but allows your feet to grow stronger and more resilient. As for walking in cold or even snowy conditions—yes, it can be challenging, but it's also incredibly rewarding. I love the feeling of soft snow underfoot. My feet have adapted, and with proper care, they handle the cold much better than I ever expected.

What about stepping on stuff? I get this question a lot. Well, I tend to watch where I'm going more than before. I have calluses (but it's probably not what you think about when you think about calluses), I do have thicker soles than those who wear shoes, but I still have lots of feeling, which is helpful for when I do step on something, especially slippery surfaces. You see, when your feet have instantaneous understanding of what's beneath them and can communicate this to the brain, the body can take instant reaction. Look up barefoot perturbation proprioception. This is a sensorimotor function that, in short, regards the ability to recover from an imbalance in a fraction of a second faster than one who is shod because of the delay of the signal from the foot to brain caused by the interference from shoes and the lack of the foot's ability to know its immediate environment.

One thing has affected me the most going barefoot, which is the ability to feel my surroundings has heightened my awareness. It's not that big of a deal for those that wear shoes, and you won't know what I'm experiencing if you don't go barefoot on a significant basis, and I do mean far more so than just around this house or for a few minutes outside. The feeling of the various different surfaces throughout this world are now a must for me. I just cannot walk if I can't feel it! I have to be able to feel what I'm walking on or I can't operate effectively and efficiently. It's hard to describe, but it's more of an anxiety to have shoes on (like a claustrophobia of sorts) than to go into public without them. 

The impact on individual well-being is clear. We all spend so much of our lives in shoes, not realizing how much they can limit our physical connection to the world around us. Shoes can alter the natural function of our feet, causing problems like sweaty feet, bunions, and even affecting posture. By embracing the freedom of going barefoot, we reconnect with our environment, improve our balance and coordination, and strengthen muscles that would otherwise be underused.

But it’s not just personal health—there’s an environmental aspect too. Shoes require resources, and often those resources aren't sustainably sourced. By reducing our reliance on shoes, we can help reduce the waste associated with footwear manufacturing and consumption. Also, take this into consideration: If everyone was barefoot, would we be more or less willing to spit on the sidewalk or litter? Would we want such harsh chemicals and hard substrates plastering the world? I think the world would be a cleaner place if we were all barefoot.

For most of history, humans walked barefoot. Shoes were created for utility—protection against extreme cold, sharp terrain, or hazardous conditions. But somewhere along the way, they became more than just a tool; they became an expectation, a societal norm that dictates we must wear them at all times, regardless of whether they are needed.

The truth is, for the majority of daily life, shoes are unnecessary, I know it's truth because I live it and experience it everyday. You must understand that even in my line of work, construction, I have it very rare (maybe two or three time in the last 11 years) that I have needed or felt the need to wear shoes. They weaken our feet, restrict natural movement, and disconnect us from our surroundings. By choosing to go barefoot, I’m not rejecting shoes—I’m simply using them as they were originally intended: as tools, not a permanent part of my body.

The human foot is an architectural wonder, a masterpiece of natural engineering. The arch isn’t just a random curve—it’s a self-supporting structure, designed to bear weight, absorb shock, and propel us forward with efficiency. Just like the arches of ancient bridges and cathedrals, the foot’s arch gains strength from pressure, not from artificial support.

But modern footwear has tricked us into believing our feet are weak. Arch support, thick soles, and rigid shoes do the work our feet were built to do, robbing them of their natural strength. It’s like putting crutches under a perfectly functional leg—eventually, the muscles waste away.

When we walk barefoot, we allow our feet to function as intended. The tendons and muscles engage, the arch flexes and strengthens, and the body moves with a natural, fluid grace. What once felt weak becomes powerful. What once needed support learns to support itself.

The more I embraced barefoot living, the more I realized: why rely on artificial solutions when nature has already perfected the design?

That’s my story—part suffering, part discovery, and ultimately, freedom. It’s a journey that has shaped not just who I am, but how I see the world and how I walk through it. Going barefoot isn’t just a preference; it’s now a necessity. If you’re curious or want to know more, feel free to ask—I’m always happy to share!