The Summer I Stopped Hiding

Apr 17, 2026 by Chloe R.
(By Chloe R., verified buyer)
Last summer, I did something I never thought I’d do.
I booked a solo trip to Portugal. Alone. No plus-one, no safety net, just me, a backpack, and a one-way ticket to Lisbon.
If you’d told 22-year-old me I’d ever do that, I’d have laughed. Back then, I was the girl who hid behind her friends at parties, who ordered the same drink every time because change scared me, who always picked “safe” over “exciting.” I spent years letting other people’s comfort define mine — wearing what they liked, going where they wanted, never daring to stand out.
But by 27, I was tired of it. Tired of feeling like I was living someone else’s life. So I booked the trip. And I decided this summer, I was going to stop hiding.
The first few days were messy. I got lost three times in Alfama. I ordered a seafood dish I hated. I sat in a café for an hour, just watching people, because I was too nervous to talk to anyone.
Then, on day four, something shifted.
I was staying in a tiny Airbnb with a balcony overlooking the Tagus River. That morning, I put on a dress I’d bought months before — soft, flowy, cream-colored, with tiny embroidery along the hem. I’d never worn it before, because it felt too bright, too “me.” And then, almost on a whim, I slipped on a pair of heels I’d ordered right before the trip — the cork ones, with the sheer mesh and that unexpected pop of yellow on the heel.
They were nothing like the black pumps I usually wore. They were warm, textured, like sunlight on driftwood. The mesh made them feel light, like they were part of the air, not just shoes. I stared at myself in the mirror, and for the first time in years, I didn’t look away.
I walked down to the riverfront that day, heels clicking on the cobblestones, and sat at a little outdoor bar. A woman next to me, a local in her 60s, smiled and said, “You look like the sun today.”
We talked for hours. She told me about growing up in Lisbon, about her own solo trips when she was my age, about how sometimes the bravest thing you can do is just show up — as you are.
That day, I didn’t hide. I ordered the weird cocktail with the flower in it. I talked to strangers. I walked through the streets like I belonged there, not like I was just visiting.
The shoes didn’t change anything. Not really. But they were a symbol, I guess. A little reminder that it was okay to be bright, to be different, to stop fitting into the box I’d built for myself.
I wore them that night to a fado show, dancing in the back of the room like no one was watching. I wore them to a day trip to Sintra, climbing cobblestone hills and not caring if they got scuffed. I wore them to my last dinner in Lisbon, sitting at a table alone, eating pastel de nata and feeling so full of life I could’ve cried.
When I came home, I put them in the back of my closet for a while. Not because I didn’t love them, but because I was scared the feeling would fade — that the confident girl in Lisbon was just a vacation version of me.
But a few weeks later, I had a big work presentation. I was nervous, the kind of nervous that makes you want to wear your “safe” black blazer and black heels. Instead, I pulled out the cream dress. And the cork heels.
I walked into that room, and I didn’t just give a presentation. I spoke like I meant it. Like I belonged there.
The shoes didn’t make the presentation perfect. But they reminded me of the girl who sat in that Lisbon café, talking to strangers and feeling like the sun. They reminded me that I don’t have to hide anymore.
I still wear them, now. Not just for big moments, but for small ones — brunch with friends, a trip to the farmers’ market, even just when I need a little pick-me-up. They’re scuffed now, a little worn around the edges, but they’re mine.
This isn’t really a post about shoes, honestly. It’s about how sometimes the smallest things — a dress, a pair of heels, a trip you almost didn’t take — can remind you of who you are.
If you’ve ever felt like you’re hiding, or like you need a little push to step into your own light, I hope you find whatever that thing is for you.
And if you happen to be looking for a sign to stop playing it safe… these might just be it.
(If you’re curious, I got them from @High Heel Her Shoes — they’re the cork mesh pointed-toe heels with the yellow heel pop. They’re the kind of shoes that don’t just look good. They feel like permission.)