On Not Being Small
I am 31 years old now, and I am done with being small so that boys will like me better.
I don’t know when I realized that being little and shy and pathetic was cute to them, and it made them love me, but I finally realized that it is making me not love myself.
It’s not that cute anymore, anyway. I’m a grown woman. I’m a strong person. I am not beautiful because I am weak, I am beautiful because I am strong.
I think I can’t hide my strength anymore. I think the lines in my face are beginning to speak for themselves. I think my heart has scarred and healed and scarred and healed too many times to fit into such a small space, contorted around someone else’s Big Boy Straight Spine. I think I need my own space to breathe, to express, to share, to give.
Yes, sometimes I want to curl up into a ball, and be held, and never leave the covers. More often than I’d like to say.
But that is not all of me.
I want to say that; I want to be loved for my strength. But I think that is missing the point. I think that what I really want to say is; I love myself for my strength, and I don’t give a damn what anybody else thinks about it. I think I want to fulfill my role in the world in the way that I am meant to, and stop shying away from that because I’m afraid it won’t get enough approval.
God, this world is so fucking devastatingly indifferent sometimes. We are all hurting, and we are all distracting ourselves from the hurting in our own favorite ways. It is so rare and difficult to open and really feel the reality of it, to really touch someone else in what they’re feeling and what they need. It’s a lot.
But we have to do our best. The world needs a lot right now. We have to keep working toward it, keep opening, keep healing, keep deepening our capacity, because that is the only way that the world is going to change for the better. The world is made out of people, like me and you. And when me and you change, the world changes. So let’s do what we can with me and you.