11/09/2025 - Being just a girl.

I feel so bad for having judged Christian and his blisters, because now I’m in crisis myself. Both my fourth toes have gotten worse, to the point I can’t even put my feet on the ground. The pain is so sharp I feel it burning even while lying in bed, and it’s infuriating, because the rest of my body feels okay even after today’s 22 km, on top of my period and the exhaustion of the past days. Only those fucking toes!

How handicapping can toes be, seriously? So small yet so painful! Luckily, I bought silicone caps for both at a shop, and a sleeping bag too (amen). I struggled to finish my walk earlier, even though I stopped by a pharmacy in a small, middle-aged-vibe village to buy blister band-aids and tape to keep them in place. But I still felt them. I knew the moment I’d take my shoes off, walking again would be impossible. And it sucks.

Even more so because I’d felt a renewed energy today. I woke up fine, got ready, and set out with half my battery charged. But as the sun rose, I listened to Daft Punk, ate a banana, and felt invincible, like nothing could stop me from reaching Santiago, and my final destination. As the hours and kilometers passed, though, the worry about my feet grew. It’s beyond frustrating when my mind is set, my body too, yet one small element refuses to follow.

It makes me feel powerless, with no choice but to slow down, stay present, and surrender. Which is why tomorrow I’ll only walk 8 km to the next village. I hadn’t planned it, but Los Arcos, the “normal” next stop, had no beds left. I took it as a sign to listen to my body and ease up. It’s true: I have no time limit, I can make my own plan. But still, I wanted to impress, to perform, to show off that I can walk 20 km every day for a week. For myself but also maybe unconsciously to others too.

Why do I still crave to appear strong, powerful, unbreakable? Why can’t I just surrender and choose the softer edge for once, respect my limits, and care for my well-being? Because I want to prove to myself, and the world, that I’m worth investing in. That’s the raw truth. I may not like to see it coming out of me right now, but I also cannot help to feel its echo.

A big wave of sadness just hit me, and I cried it out. I was alone in the dormitory, chocolate bar on the bed next to me, and let it all out. A cry that came from the heart. Then came a deeper realization: I still hold the belief that I need to do something grandiose to be admired, praised, and loved. That if I move at a slower pace, with temperance, without extremes, I won’t be noticed or recognized. That without proving, I won’t be worthy.

Wow. That hit deep again. And I know it comes from my dad, and the masculine energy in general, where I always felt the need to compete, even unconsciously. All I wished was to lean into my feminine energy, to be soft, gentle, caring, nurturing, attentive. I offer those qualities to the people I love. I’ve been learning to offer them to myself too. But clearly, between knowing I need to be gentler with me and actually practicing it, there’s still space to grow.

I owe it to myself to show up by caring for my body, especially on my period. I’m tender, sensitive, attuned, yet I still push hard because that’s the “norm.” But men wake up every day with testosterone peaking again, with steady energy. I don’t. And right there, writing those words, another wave of emotion came. Because I get mostly as surprised as you by what I'm writing. And now, I remembered wishing I were a boy for my dad, because he had wanted me to be one when my mom was pregnant.

He wanted me to be adventurous, sporty, and reckless. He tried everything to shape me into that. Signed me up for every after-school sport, brought me on mountain escapades, climbing, biking, rollerblading. Karate too, since he was a black belt. Sailing camps, horseback riding in summer. And when none of it stuck, he leaned into gymnastics, dance, flying trapeze. For this, I’m grateful: I can do a bit of everything.

But I also know there was disappointment each time I didn’t show up as a little guy would have. Each time I wasn’t thrilled to kick a ball around or climb a tree. Sometimes I did, but other times, I just wanted to stay in, play with my dolls, invent stories, and create worlds of my own. That wasn’t appealing to him back then. So I learned that to get his attention, I had to achieve something “a boy” would do. And I tied my value to that.

It hurts my child’s heart to see this so clearly. I wish I could hug her, sit down beside the Barbie castle she built, ask her about each room, and marvel at her imagination. To tell her she has nothing to prove, not even to her dad. That she is perfect as she is, a beautiful little girl who can enjoy being one. Enjoy pink, princesses, and fairytales. She doesn’t have to hide behind "blue" out of fear she won’t be loved as much.

Just voicing this healed something. I feel lighter now. I think these blisters came exactly for this reason: to make me drop into my feminine. To stop rushing toward the destination and soften into the journey. I’ve been saying it, but doing the opposite. Now it’s time to embody it, each step, slow and deliberate, honoring the pace. There’s no need to rush, no need to hurt myself. It can be pleasant. I can enjoy it. Nothing has to be painful just for performance. I don’t need to prove myself to be validated or praised. I am already worthy by being just a girl.

With love, Loune.