Struggling To See Myself - Let's Start A Conversation

Hi Everyone. 

I am nearly moved in. There are still a few more boxes to open and I’m waiting for my final pieces of furniture, but I’m here. New York City is quickly feeling like home. I’m establishing my routine while exploring new places. Stay tuned for an apartment tour once everything is set. 

While I found the place where I belonged, a big city where I have yet to feel small, I realized this past week that I’m struggling to see myself.

Let me explain. 

Part of packing up my entire life and moving to a new city involved purging my closet of what no longer fits and is never worn. It wasn’t until I started unpacking my clothes that I realized I may have done too good a job. Not that I wish I kept some items, just that I really slimmed down my wardrobe. 

At the same time I’ve gone back to the gym, a place I’ve missed for over a year. It's weird, in a good way, to be working out again in a communal space after exercising for more than a year alone with my dumbbells, my bike, and the Peloton app. The gym has always been a healthy place for me to release pent-up anger and frustration and a playground for me to test myself and prove that I am stronger than I think. 

More than a year after joining my gym, I finally decided to have a health assessment, something offered to all new members. I met with the trainer, explained to him what it means to live in a dwarf body, and we discussed my physical history and fitness goals. I wanted to train to become stronger, not smaller.

Eventually the time came for me to step on the scale. This wasn’t a simple bathroom scale. This scale had sensors you held onto that measured body fat percentage and composition. With trepidation I stepped on the scale, not knowing what to expect. Truth be told, I don’t weigh myself. I used to be obsessed with the number on the scale, an obsession fueled by diet culture and misinterpreted medical advice (to be clear, I was the one who misinterpreted the advice given by my doctor, I am not saying my doctor gave me bad advice). It took a long time for me to realize that the number on the scale does not measure my worth, that the number on the scale does not limit what I can physically achieve, that the number on the scale does not define me.

I held my breath waiting for the results. The numbers came up and I was taken aback. Looking at my stats on the scale one would think that I was not healthy, when I knew in my heart and felt in my bones that was not true. Believe it or not, the only number that seemed accurate, that I was most okay with, was my weight. On paper I was obese. What I know, and what the scale does not, is that I am not an average-height individual at my current weight. I am a little person. My body is built differently and the average-height standards of “health” do not apply to me. Yet a year ago, knowing these numbers were probably wrong, I would have freaked out, pushed myself harder to train more and eat less. Now, I know that I am healthy. I can walk, I can run, I can dance, I can move. Those numbers no longer scared me. Those numbers no longer controlled me. It did not matter whether I was heavier or lighter. What mattered is that I knew, felt, and believed that I was mentally and physically stronger.

Yet, while shopping and trying on clothes a few days later, I did not feel like I had made any progress. I was trying on garments in sizes I never thought I could fit in, sizes I thought would make me happy, and there was no sense of satisfaction or success. A younger me would have jumped for joy just knowing her body could fit into a smaller size and then gone straight to the gym to ensure those clothes would fit the next day. Now, I remember staring at my reflection and feeling emotionally empty. I know and believe that the size of a shirt, a dress, or a pair of pants does not matter. Those numbers are arbitrary and by no means define ones worth or beauty. But I worked so hard to get to this healthier state and it was not reflected in the mirror. All I saw was a body that was no longer mine, a body that looked larger, less healthy and more unhappy. I was staring at a younger version of myself that I was rarely proud of. I returned home empty-handed and frustrated, not with the fashion, but with myself. 

There have been days when I wished the body I inhabited was not that of a little person’s. I thought if I was average-height I wouldn’t get so frustrated, so disappointed when I looked at myself in the mirror. I wouldn’t have had to grow up constantly worrying about the number of pounds I gained in a year. I wouldn’t have had to struggle to find clothes that fit no matter what size was on the tag. It took a long time for me to realize that my dwarf body was not and never is the issue.

Why am I writing this? Three reasons.

The first is that I made a promise to myself and my readers a year and a half ago that I would always be honest about my struggles and successes.

The second reason is a little more selfish. Writing down my thoughts and feelings is helping me truly understand why I got so frustrated in the dressing room that day, because in the moment I could not fathom how I was feeling. It did not make sense. Writing this out is allowing me to heal, to accept that yes, I am stronger, but I am not invincible. There will still be days where I struggle to see my true self in the mirror, but those days are becoming fewer and farther between and I know that I can overcome them. 

The third is to hopefully start a conversation. The struggle to see myself started many years ago when I was told I gained more than my allotted three pounds in a single year. Up until that point, I was happy with my body and how I treated it. After learning what I had done, I felt like the biggest failure. I looked at my body in the mirror that night and felt waves of anger, disappointment, and humiliation wash over me. I took extreme measures to get my body back. I engaged in diet thoughts and behaviors I realize now were unhealthy but, at the time, I thought I had no choice. I had to lose what I gained. What I should have done was take the time to sit down with myself, my parents, and my doctors and really talk this out. We, and when I say we I really mean I, needed to understand how and why I gained the weight as fast as I did, to realize that during this same one year period my body went through puberty, and to set realistic, healthy goals that were not based on the numbers on a scale. I hope that doctors who treat little people read this and realize they need to understand that the words they use, especially when talking about weight, could make a huge difference in their patient’s lives. I hope that the younger generation of female little people, who may be struggling to see themselves, read this and realize that they are never alone.