Putting the Space in S P A C E

"trying to convince myself
i am allowed to take up space
is like writing with
my left hand
when i was born
to use my right

-the idea of shrinking is hereditary"

-rupi kaur, milk and honey

This is a poem from page 29 in Rupi Kaur's book of poetry. It's a read that I highly recommend to anyone, especially those that hurt and/or are healing. I read it for the first time last fall and I annotated the heck out of my copy. So much resonated with me. So much eased my soul and helped me to remember that I am not alone in my struggle.

Today, I want to talk about this selection. Page 29.

My whole life I have been bigger. When you're always a few sizes up from other girls, you try to make yourself smaller. Other people don't notice. But it happens.

I remember sitting on the bus in high school, always shrinking up next to the window. My sophomore year I had friends that I sat next to, and it was always an anxiety-ridden experience. Getting on the bus. Avoiding the gazes of people that looked up. (Maybe they were just looking for their friends and found me instead. Probably. But I didn't know for sure and it was scary.) Looking for my seat. The one three rows back, on the right. Were my friends there yet? No? Good. Window seat is mine. Yes, they're there? Oh no. I have to sit on the edge. I can't shrink as much. I can't make my wide hips and flabby thighs shrink into the seat without hanging off the edge. I can't hide from the people getting off the bus, knocking my thigh or shoulder as they passed.

Desks in high school, and even more so now, are a nightmare. They're uncomfortable and I always find myself comparing how much my thighs hang off the sides to how well-made the desks were for girls that were much smaller than me. They sat quaintly in their desks, with plenty of room to cross their legs or lay their hands in their lap to text discreetly under the desk.

Movie theaters? Ouch.

Crowded restaurants? Do you know how hard it is to squeeze between tables and chairs occupied by people? "Sorry," "excuse me," galore. I can feel the impatience resonating from every pore in the bodies of the people whose meal I'm disrupting. Me. So much of me. Too much.

Need to be smaller.
Need to be smaller.
Need to be....normal?

But this feeling of needing to shrink for others doesn't just translate to my being overweight.

It's my laugh, too. And my emotions. Someone once commented on how my laugh was "really big". I stopped laughing like that, how I naturally laughed. I laugh softer now, less. Because I don't want to make people uncomfortable. I don't want to drive people away.  And I don't want people to get mad.

More than one person has commented on the enormity of my emotions and it's been one of the causes of the destruction of more than one relationship. It's not that I have incredible mood swings. It's that when I'm upset, oh boy, I'm upset. Crying uncontrollably, hyperventilating even. "Are you okay now?" No. The tears keep coming.

When I'm happy, oh boy, am I happy. I could be excited about some things for days. I laugh at jokes sometimes for 20 minutes uncontrollably. But I feel people getting impatient. I feel them wanting to move on. I force myself to stop. I shrink back into normal-size emotions even though what I really want to do is keep laughing.

I shrink.

One day, I'm going to stop shrinking for others, though, as best as I can. I'm not a rubber band. I'm not made to grow and shrink and grow and shrink and GROW AND SHRINK.

I'm not a rubber band.

I'm a person. I'm allowed to take up space.