I've been on the factory floor for eleven years. Concrete underneath me, steel toes on my feet, ten-hour shifts that don't give you much time to think about anything other than the work in front of you. Foot pain was just something I'd accepted as part of the deal — the same way I accepted early mornings and tired legs. You come home, you pull your boots off, you sit down. That was the routine.
What I didn't understand — not for two full years — was that the pain I was carrying home in my feet was following me into my sleep.
For the better part of those two years, I was waking up at 2 or 3 AM most nights. Not dramatically. Just surfacing — that feeling of being aware of the ceiling when you shouldn't be. Restless. Stiff. Sometimes the first thing I'd feel was a dull throb in my heels before I was even fully conscious. I blamed stress. Work schedule. The mattress. My wife thought it was my phone. I tried melatonin, cut out caffeine after noon for a month, bought a new pillow. Nothing.
Not once did I think to look at my feet.