It was our first pilgrimage. We got professional advice and chose what we thought were the ideal shoes. When we went for practise walks, I got blisters; that was normal for me. We listened to podcasts on blister care and I was interested to hear one doctor suggest that calluses forming over blisters should be removed. We prepared all we could and set off. Sure that my feet would come right, we walked an average of 20-25 kilometres for 40 days. I spent the first week hobbling, but my feet did build up some resilience. I grew calluses. They were thick. There was no way I was going to remove them while we were walking, they were my protection.
Calluses form where we hurt. You’ve heard the phrase “hurt people, hurt people”, now extrapolate that out with the idea that the hurt person is protected behind calluses. Their hurts are masked. They are dulled to the pain. Their sensitivity is reduced. No wonder they hurt people; their natural responses are concealed as they protect themselves from further pain.
The trouble with callus removal is that calluses grow back. Calluses form naturally in response to consistent friction. Think of my shoes. When I get blisters then stop walking, the blisters heal and my foot returns to normal. But on that pilgrimage, because I walked consistently over several weeks, calluses formed to protect me where my shoes rubbed.
If I had removed the calluses on the pilgrimage, I would have exposed my feet to unnecessary pain because my protective barrier would have been gone.
How do we deal with calluses? Deal with the friction.
When we finished the pilgrimage, my calluses naturally healed and disappeared. The friction was gone.
Roll on one year, and we were about to head out on pilgrimage number two. I went for my first practise walk – a mere nine kilometres. Blisters. Bad ones. ‘This is ridiculous!’ I thought. I returned to the shoe guy and explained my situation. I wore in these shoes for well over 1000 kilometres and now, after months of healing I try them again and I have blisters within nine kilometres.
He looked at me as only a salesman can and replied, “how about we retire these shoes and find something more suited to you for your next pilgrimage?” I was surprised, but I agreed. I came in expecting advice, not replacement. He gave me two options to try on. One of them felt much like the first pair. The other pair, fit perfectly.
I left the shop wondering if the feeling was temporary or if they would still feel good after walking a distance. I repeated the nine kilometre walk. No blisters. I walked further. Still nothing. I started my next pilgrimage. On the first day, I didn’t do up my shoes properly and got massive blisters. I hobbled for a week. Deja vu. Then my feet healed. I walked further per day on average than the last pilgrimage because my feet coped so much better. I didn’t need all the calluses of the last walk because the friction was gone.
When we experience too much friction, we hurt. When we experience constant friction, we harden to it. It’s a survival mechanism.
If we’ve hardened toward a person, how do we get our compassion or our concern back? Reduce the friction and allow healing to take place. If we throw ourselves back into the same situation, the pain will return, but if it is not consistent, the callus won’t necessarily return.
Does someone spring to mind when I mention a callused person? What constant friction lies behind their callousness? What is the callus protecting them from?
We can cut off the callus by attempting behavioural change; but if the friction remains, the callus will grow again. The callus is not the problem. It is merely a form of protection.
What lies behind the hard exterior? What is the softness underneath that needs protection from relentless pain?
Being aware of underlying pain doesn’t change the situation, but it may introduce compassion where there was none. It might help you to process why this person is so hard.
Could compassion or understanding ease their pain? What could you do to support their healing?
I have mentioned the quote before, “if love doesn’t work, increase the dose”.
We are aware of our own feelings and how others make us feel, but are we aware of our effect on others? What might it look like to love this person in increasing amounts? How could upping the dose of love and compassion change their world?
I had time to heal between pilgrimages. When I came back to the shoes, I knew something had to be done. While I was on our first walk, I didn’t want to try different shoes because I was barely coping with my current ones. I thought that new shoes would rub even more. It never occurred to me that I might find a better option that didn’t rub in the same way.
Don’t be surprised if your callused person doesn’t jump at the opportunity for change. Change may not feel safe for them. Remember their calluses are a form of protection. Is it possible to remove the friction and allow them to begin the healing process?
It may be only when they are healing or healed that they can fathom a new way of doing things – when they return to their situation and see how quickly the hurt comes back. Once the callus is healed, their sensitivity and dull responses can restore to a more natural and balanced interaction.
When I walk now, I do a semi-long walk to prepare my feet for the intensity that is about to come. If I launch straight into a long walk, my feet get sore, but if I do a medium walk a few days before the big one, my feet cope much better.
Everyone has varying thresholds for pain and areas of sensitivity. When we’re callused, we can endure more; but when the friction that formed the callus reduces or stops, we learn how to manage our own responses. Some may not require the same preparation for endurance as others; the key is to learn what works in our own situation and to respect that others may respond differently.
Dealing with calluses is not a behavioural issue, it is a heart issue. Without addressing the heart, we merely place a bandaid over the wound and allow the friction to continue. Spoiler alert: even a bandaid can only survive friction for so long.
