Small

But not THAT small

Oct 10, 2025

I am very small. So small that as a kid I was offered injections to grow taller. My parents let me choose. I was five years old and afraid of needles, so I remained small. As an adult now, last I checked, I was 146cm (4’9”).

Being small comes with a lot of challenges, the main one being infantilization. You’re obviously too small to be a full grown adult, aren’t you?

You can’t reach stuff on the higher shelves, you need a footstool to do your dishes, you can’t find shoes the right size in the adult section, and so everyone treats you like a child. When you manage to find a partner, they feel like they’re pedos and they admit it proudly. “You’re like something forbidden, but legal” one said to me one day.

The problem is, while it’s fun to feel like something forbidden every now and then, it doesn’t give you that much power.

I was very easy to abuse, and I partly blame my height for the way it happened and the number of times it was done. “Oh, don’t bother doing this. Don’t do that. You’re not gonna do that are you?” As if I was a child. Yes, I’m gonna do that, thank you very much.

Of course there’s been way worse abuse, but these words were the first it, every time. “I’m going to treat you like a child and rob you of your power towards me so that I can later do much worse”, basically.

I fought back, of course. But it was always endearing and childish.

I think the worst thing that’s been said to me was “you’re so cute when you get angry”. How do you answer that?

You don’t. You can’t.

Because it robbed you of your anger, of your power, once again. You’re not able to show anger because on you, it looks cute. So you shut up and you retreat within yourself.

I am not strong, nor have I ever been. Maybe if I worked out and built muscles it would be different, but I’ve never done so. I don’t think it would look or feel good, and I was never fond of working out anyway.

I don’t think it would solve the problem either. I would look like a small version of something big and scary, thus, cute. I hate that word so much.

I am not a kitten, I am not a baby. I am not a little bow to put on a little girl’s hair. I am not cute. I am mighty and smart. I am strong, internally. I am a dragon. Fierce, dangerous, powerful. And I hoard books. I hoard knowledge.

I probably know more about many things than my exes ever did, except perhaps their own fields of interest, and that’s only because I never bothered to learn and they couldn’t bother to teach me. I’ve read more than a thousand books, I lost count. I have extensive vocabulary in both French and English. I write stories, poems, I edit other people’s manuscripts. I am knowledgeable and intelligent.

I never understood why people reduced me to my looks and height. I have a pretty well functioning brain that’s way more interesting.

I think it scared them, and that’s why they diminished it.

I now have brain damage from PTSD, and I’m less confident in my intellectual abilities as I once was. I am less creative, less able to write worlds and characters. But I still do it all the same, because fuck these bastards, I’ve earned the right to be a writer.

I have earned the right to express myself.

I have earned the right to be big, and tall, and scary, even if it’s only in a story. Even if it’s only in a world of my own creation, I am allowed to be anything I want. And I am.

In my mind I have never been small. I have never been shy. I have never been beaten. I have always believed I would rise above all of the hurt I suffered through, and be great. Now that I’m removed from toxicity and abuse, I can finally start healing and living my life in the way I’ve always thought I would.

A tall, big, scary, adventurous, crazy life.

In my mind, at least.

The traumas have left scars that will take years to fade, and I’m trying my best to overcome the obstacles that come from it.

One thing is for certain though, I will never, ever be made to feel small again.

Minerrale

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