“Well,” she casually remarked, “he said, ‘Michelle’s nice, but she’s just too small.’” Taken aback, I could only nod and respond, “That’s accurate, I am.” For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been the smallest person in the room, but this was the first instance I realized my height might shape how others perceived me. Before that conversation with Lisa, I identified myself with many positive traits: intelligent, humorous, loyal, and talented. However, after that moment, “short” was the first label I began to apply to myself.
At 4 feet 9 inches tall, I like to think I’ve grown a lot since my school days, but the reality of being petite is that the reminders are relentless. Hooks are always too high, sitting in a movie theater requires craning around others, and riding the subway on a sweltering summer day places me at armpit level with fellow commuters.
Of course, there are the comments from strangers:
- “You’re the tiniest person I’ve ever seen!”
- “How tall are you, anyway?”
- “I’ve never encountered anyone shorter than me before!”
This last one irritates me the most. I would never dream of saying something like that to another person—perhaps because I’ve never had the chance.
I’ve memorized countless witty retorts that I’ve never used. Mostly, I want to ask these individuals, “Do you think this is new information for me? Do you think I’ve somehow forgotten my height?”
In the years that followed my chat with Lisa, I discovered what it truly meant to be short. As a teenager, it often translated to being perceived as sweet and cute, but also un-dateable—the adorable little sister everyone had. I became accustomed to people resting their elbows on my head, playfully declaring, “You make a fantastic armrest!” At social gatherings, I stood awkwardly in the corner, hoping for a dance invitation but secretly worried about looking ridiculous reaching for a boy’s shoulders. High heels didn’t fool anyone either.
Beneath my senior picture in the yearbook, I boldly declared, “Don’t call me adorable!” While cute might sound like a compliment, it felt like a label that confined me, and I was starting to feel trapped.
When I headed off to college in another state without knowing a single person, I was determined to break free from the stereotypes associated with my petite stature. I began lifting weights, learned self-defense, and became more vocal in political discussions. I refused to let anyone talk down to me.
At my graduation ceremony, I was honored with a prestigious fellowship. When the college president called my name, I stood up and noticed everyone craning their necks to see me; when I stood, I was at eye level with those seated. A guy beside me whispered, “Stand on a chair so they can see you!” “Absolutely not,” I replied through gritted teeth, sitting back down, cheeks flushed.
I used to vent to my mother about the struggles of being short. At 4 feet 10 inches tall herself, she understands all too well. Now at 72, she still experiences being patted on the head and told how charming she is. (And by the way, if you think that this is a compliment, think again.) She has found peace with her height, and I’m learning to do the same. I remind myself that shorter individuals often excel in yoga balance poses due to a lower center of gravity. I can stretch my legs comfortably on airplanes, and when someone calls me adorable, I try to smile graciously, recognizing their good intentions.
Perhaps it’s the wisdom that comes with age, but acceptance feels much easier now. Throughout my childhood, I battled with my height while simultaneously defining myself by it. It’s exhausting to be torn between two identities. The fact is, our bodies are what we have—they aren’t just shells; they are how we engage with the world and discover who we are. If we can’t embrace our bodies, how can we ever learn to love ourselves?
I married a man who stands at 5 feet 9 inches. This means he’s a full foot taller than me, and I genuinely enjoy having someone around who can reach the high cabinets without a step stool. Occasionally, I’ll stand on a chair so we can share a view of the room together. I remember my graduation moment, how I stayed on the ground, feeling invisible, as if climbing onto the chair would simply highlight my differences. In my dreams, I imagine climbing up and waving, only to receive applause from those around me.
Now, standing on a chair in my kitchen, I wrap my arm around my husband’s shoulders—my husband who might never have fallen in love with me if I were taller because then I wouldn’t be the same person. “Wow,” I say, “This is how you see the world.”
If you’re looking for more helpful insights about fertility and home insemination, check out this fantastic resource for all your needs. And if you’re interested in at-home insemination kits, be sure to explore the offerings from Make a Mom.
Summary:
In this thoughtful reflection, Michelle Harper shares her experiences growing up as a petite woman and how it has shaped her identity. Despite facing challenges and stereotypes, she embraces her height and highlights the importance of self-acceptance. Through her journey, she encourages readers to appreciate their bodies and the unique perspectives they bring to the world.
Leave a Reply