Mary Manning - Nobody Will Believe You: A Story of Unbreakable Courage

My love of shoes probably stemmed from my mothers large, lovely and expensive collection. There was one pair in particular that I cherished; they were silver with a low heel and glistened like diamonds in the sun. It became a habit of mine to sneak into her room to try on those shoes over and over again, each time hoping that perhaps this time they might fit. However, they were always too big for me.

Around ten years ago I found this designer, whose shoes glorious shoes are sold in boutiques around the country. Today I have my own large, lovely and expensive collection. They are works of art, in a variety of clashing colours and wild patterns. In some cases the patterns spread all over the sole, which makes it seem like an appalling idea to actually walk about in them. And, to be honest, they are not the most comfortable to wear, so I would advise against wearing them to go shopping or anything else that involves a lot of walking.

But, my goodness, are these shoes gorgeous! They quickly became my new reason to go shopping. There is a website, but I am not handy with computers, which is undoubtedly a good thing. I would hate to think of the money I might spend if shopping for my favourite thing merely involved a few clicks of the mouse.

My shoes mean a lot to me. I feel good when I wear them. Actually, I dont just feel good, I feel strong. It might sound a little strange, but the truth is that when I put on a pair of uncomfortable, wacky, loud shoes with tottering high heels, they help me to feel grounded, which is why I chose to wear my favourite pair to Seans funeral.

Sean is or was my stepfather. He married my mother when I was ten years old.

The shoes I wore to his funeral are covered in bunny rabbits. Not that you would be able to see them if you werent standing right next to me, and staring at my feet. Really, only Id know that they were plastered in multiple bunny rabbits and black stars. I suppose I could describe them as similar in shape to Victorian booties. Does that make sense? They have to be laced up, though there are only five holes, and the laces are made of the same material as the shoes. However, I didnt wear them that day for the bunnies. I wore them because the shoes are framed in a vibrant pink and for me pink represents love. Choosing to wear those particular shoes was me taking steps, if you like, to protect myself.

Funerals are never easy for anyone.

Those shoes kept me true to myself. I was not going to apologise for anything, but neither did I mean to cause any harm. Pink is love and I wanted to needed to feel love that day for everyone present, but most of all for myself.

I wore my long black coat, which allowed my shoes to properly shine, and provided another layer of protection and self-preservation. We wear coats to shield us from cold and wet weather; that morning I used mine to shield myself from casual onlookers and, yes, Seans siblings and their families. I was unsure of the reception Id receive. To top off the coat and shoes, there was a small angel in my pocket. I wasnt taking any chances. It was silver with a tiny dot of purple amethyst in the centre. I asked the angel to protect me and my family. Every now and then I discreetly stuck my hand into my pocket to touch it as the priest spoke on and on.

I wanted to look well. What woman doesnt?, but it went deeper than that. What I mean is that I didnt want to betray myself, to show my inner scars. I wanted to look well and not like a victim. And certainly, not like a woman who had been raped repeatedly for over ten years by this man who was now dead; this man, my stepfather, who was also the father of five of my children.