You Learned to Make Yourself Smaller Than You Are

You have gotten really good at shrinking. Taking up less space, wanting less, needing less, or being less. The shrinking happened gradually until you forgot you were ever bigger. Now the small version of you is who you are and you don’t even remember that you used to be different.

The shrinking probably started because being big wasn’t safe. Being visible meant being noticed. It meant being judged or criticized or told to be different, and so you learned to be smaller. You learned to want things quietly, need things only when it was convenient for other people, and you learned to make your life small enough to fit in the space other people had allocated for you.

The shrinking became a habit and habits become identity. Now you don’t take up space automatically. You make yourself smaller before anyone even asks you to. You apologize for your opinions before anyone questions them. You minimize your needs before anyone can tell you they’re too much. You are doing the shrinking yourself now so nobody else has to.

What’s strange is that the smaller version of you might actually be safer. Less visible means fewer problems. Taking up less space means fewer conflicts. Wanting less means fewer disappointments when you don’t get what you want. The shrinking solved some problems but it created new ones. It created the problem of not knowing who you are anymore when you are not around people who need you to be small.

Other people probably like the small version of you. The small version is easier to be around. She doesn’t demand anything, she doesn’t take up the whole room, and she makes space for everyone else’s needs and desires. The small version is accommodating and flexible and uncomplicated. People appreciate that version. People would probably miss the small version if you took up more space.

But you know the small version isn’t who you are. Underneath the small version is a bigger person. Someone with bigger wants and bigger needs and bigger opinions. Someone who takes up space and isn’t sorry about it. That person is still in there but she’s so small now that she barely makes noise. The shrinking has been so consistent that the bigger version feels dangerous, selfish, and wrong.

You could take up more space, want things openly, need things without minimizing, or you could speak your opinions without apologizing, but the cost of that is that people might react negatively. The cost is that being bigger means being more visible which means being more vulnerable to criticism. The cost is that the people who like the small version of you might not like the bigger version as much.

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