pe·tite/pəˈtēt/
| Adjective: |
- (of a woman) Having a small and attractively dainty build.
- (of a size of women's clothing) Smaller than standard
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I used to wish for this kind of body, you know.
I used to think it was largely ideal. But what did I know?
I was a girl.
I know what people mean when they describe me as 'petite', especially because I'm not really. I am 5'6, wear a size 8 shoe, size 5 pants, weigh something between 118 and 125.
I'm actually painfully average across a multitude of domains.
One exception.
President of the "Itty-Bitty-Titties" Committee speaking. This meeting is now in session.
With a disposable hospital gown draped over my body, I asked, "Am I normal?"
The doctor, frowning, lowered my gown and shot a stoic glare at the upper part of my torso. Then the doctor looked at me, almost confused, and replied:
"Do you have breasts? Yes. Will they be able to feed your babies? Yes. What other questions might you have?"
"I...guess that's it." I replied feebly.
"Great. When you're ready to go, you can speak to Mindy at the front to pick up your prescription."
She leaves the room. I am left alone, naked, digesting her words.
Would this response satisfy you?
It should. Doctors are supposed to know what they're talking about.
No one can ever know what you're feeling. Not even a man who studied everything about what it is to be physically human for 12 years.
Psychology says that girls who develop too early also develop low self-esteem. Proven.
It also says that girls who develop too late can live a similar fate. Experienced.
Do you remember those days when you used to stay up as long as possible on Christmas Eve in hopes of seeing Santa Claus? The desperate memories of relentless stake-outs on the living room floor, right next to the Christmas tree? I'd wait, too.
After fighting an impossible war, we'd fall asleep, but it was okay. In the morning we'd awake to the presents we were expecting.
My life has been a series of waking up, time after time, to nothing.
How many people can be embarrassed to shower with no one around?
________________________
I wrote this at a point in my life where my relationships were changing quicker than my body was. I was insecure about my breasts. Rest assured, I stopped giving a fuck eventually. About my breasts. I've learned that often, feelings/emotions/thoughts that linger for too long in your head are a little like matter in the respect that they don't come out of thin air. They are formed from previous musings, and after they leave, they turn into others, unless they're dealt with forwardly. Accept yourself. Look in the mirror for as long as it takes and come to agree that you've been born into this shell and it's your job to take care of it, not to bash or be ashamed of it. So I have smaller breasts than most women. That's perfectly fine. A lot of us don't even know what normal breasts look like, and I promise you, very few have breasts to boast about. Blame television. Blame the invention of bras--they're literally a mold we have to fit into. At an extreme, you can even blame yourself for falling for the 'picture of perfect' that you've come to learn, because it isn't realistic. It isn't real. You are.
