“Well,” she said casually, “he mentioned, ‘Lily’s nice, but she’s just too small.’”
Taken aback, I could only nod and mumble, “That’s accurate; I am.”
Being the shortest in my class was nothing new, but that moment marked the first time I realized my height might define me. Before that chat with Jenna, I had a plethora of adjectives for myself: intelligent, witty, loyal, gifted. But suddenly, “short” became the first word I thought of when describing myself.
At 4 feet 9 inches, I’ve come a long way since my elementary school days, yet being petite means constant reminders of my stature. Hooks hang too high, and sitting in a movie theater means craning my neck around someone else’s head. Riding the subway during a hot summer day? I’m at armpit level with fellow passengers.
Then there are the comments from strangers:
- “You’re the tiniest person I’ve ever seen!”
- “How tall are you, really?”
- “I’ve never met anyone shorter than me!”
That last one irks me the most. I’d never dare say something like that to anyone—if only I had the chance!
I’ve crafted countless snappy replies in my head but usually just want to ask, “Do you think I’ve never heard this before? Do you believe I’m unaware of my height?”
After that chat with Jenna, I fully grasped what it meant to be short. As a teenager, it meant being perceived as sweet and cute but also un-dateable—everyone’s little sister. I got accustomed to people declaring, “You’re a great armrest!” when they plopped their elbows on my head. At parties, I’d stand in the corner, wishing for a dance invitation, yet terrified of looking silly reaching up for a boy’s shoulders. Even in high heels, I felt like I was kidding no one.
Underneath my senior photo in the yearbook, I wrote, “Don’t call me adorable!” Cute may seem like a compliment, but it felt more like a cage, and I was starting to feel trapped.
When I left for college out of state, determined to break free from the petite stereotype, I hit the gym, learned to throw punches, and became politically engaged. I refused to be condescended to.
During graduation, I was honored with a prestigious fellowship. When my name was called, I stood, and I noticed everyone straining to find me, as I was the same height as those seated. A classmate whispered, “Stand on a chair!” “Not a chance,” I whispered back, sitting down with flushed cheeks.
I used to vent to my mom about the struggles of being short. She understands—she’s only 4 feet 10 inches herself. Now 72, she still gets her head patted and is told how cute she is. (And for the record, if you think that’s welcomed, you’re mistaken.) However, she’s grown more accepting of her height, and I have too. I remind myself that short people often excel in yoga balance poses due to our lower center of gravity. I can stretch out on planes, and when people call me cute, I strive to smile graciously, recognizing they likely mean well.
Perhaps it’s the wisdom that comes with age, but acceptance feels easier now. My childhood was spent battling against my height while simultaneously allowing it to define me. It’s exhausting to be at odds with oneself. Our bodies are all we possess; they aren’t mere shells but the vessels through which we navigate the world and uncover our identities. If we loathe our bodies, how can we ever embrace ourselves?
I married a man who stands at 5 feet 9 inches, a full foot taller than me. I cherish having someone around who can reach the high shelves without a stool. Sometimes, I stand on a chair to match his eye level, and I think back to graduation—how I felt invisible on the ground. If I climbed that chair, I’d only be highlighting my difference. Yet in my dreams, I stand tall and wave, and the crowd applauds and cheers.
Now, as I stand on a chair in my kitchen, I wrap my arm around my husband’s shoulders. I wonder if he would have loved me if I were taller because that might change who I am.
“Wow,” I say. “This is your view of the world.”
For more insights and tips on self-acceptance and navigating the world of parenthood, check out our other posts, such as those at Intracervical Insemination and IVF Babble, which provide excellent resources for pregnancy and home insemination. And don’t forget to explore Make a Mom’s fertility supplements for those looking to boost their chances of conception.
Summary:
In this reflective piece, Lily Thompson shares her journey of grappling with her height throughout her life. From feeling defined by being the shortest in her class to embracing her petite stature, she recounts the challenges and stereotypes faced as a small person. Over time, she learns to accept and celebrate herself, ultimately finding love and joy in her unique perspective of the world.