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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