tall girl

This post is inspired from my friend, Claire - who joined up with SheLoves Magazine to write a love letter to our bodies.

Hello tall friend,

Height has always been part of our conversation. From scribbles in a baby book to yesterday's encounter in the library, you have always been pointed out as being different.

As a preschooler, I didn't know there was a "normal". Your legs were long and knobby and carried me through many adventures in the backyard and on the bike. You loved to stretch and play, blissfully unaware of comparisons to others. You were content in knowing that the world is fun and you could explore it. You liked being able to see over counters and jumping high into mommy and daddy's arms. One day you were going to grow as big and tall as Daddy.

School began and you continued to reach new heights, limbs extended everywhere and you were growing faster than your tummy could stay full. But I began to notice that the smaller girls were the ones that got the comments of how cute they are, how sweet they are, how adorable they are. You continued to grow gangly and upwards, and I began to wonder why I had to be different. I became embarrassed of how my clothes never fit you right. Pants were too short and waists were too big. I felt that you isolated me from others and resentful that your height implied that I was older and people wouldn't let me be cute and silly.

Others constantly pointed out how tall you were and then the comments on how skinny you were. Others whispered that your skinniness was the result of an eating disorder (which of course couldn't be farther than the truth!) I began to wear baggy clothes to hide your skinniness and purposely walked with a hunch. I bent your broad and perfect shoulders forward and leaned against walls to try and hide your true stature. I cried when the boys made fun of you, calling you Amazon Girl and Freak and the girls would comment on how you had to wear boys jeans to fit your long, boney legs. I never wanted you and resented that I had to stand out.

But you kept growing into the vessel that God created. You caught the eye of a high school basketball coach who saw through my insecurities and could see the strength in your legs, the reach of your arms and swiftness of your feet. He appreciated you before I did, dear body. He celebrated your long limbs and built strength and endurance that lead to championships and trained you to excel in sport. Your lovely length and agility gained me a starting position in college basketball.

Your shoulders were finally carried upright and strong. Your height caught the eye of a handsome college boy who would become my husband. My prayers to God were answered, I finally found a boy who would honour and celebrate you, dear body. And I came to celebrate and love you, too.

You grew and stretched outwards and heavy with my two children - this is when I was in love with you the most. You kept my babies safe for nine months, and moved and adjusted as little limbs would poke at you from the inside. You protected my first born when things went wrong and showed strength when cold and steeled foreign instruments tore you open to save a baby boy. You proudly wear the scar that is a forever reminder of your adaptability and healing. Your milk filled my breasts with nourishment and closeness to another that I never understood possible. You defied odds by showing me the wonder of natural labour, as you eased my daughter out and into my world.  You serve as an example to my son and daughter that it's good to be tall, and it's good to stand out.

I love you, dear body. You have grown despite my cursing, loathing and wishing that you would stop. You have ignored the hurtful words and continued to honour your true self by becoming what God intended.

You knew what I didn't - I was meant to stand out.

And for that, I am thankful.

Love,
Me
(AKA "that tall girl")