Small But Mighty: A Skinny Girl Finds Her Strength

I’ve always been a petite gal.

I never got involved in sports, not only due to a lack of coordination,

but also because I was often considered fragile.

I was ‘scrawny,’ and I had ‘chicken legs.’ Throw in the fact that I was a glasses-wearing-book-nerd, who carried a roller backpack in middle school, and you’ve got a pretty good image of my young adulthood. (I can hear the giggles. Totally okay. The roller backpack was definitely a bad choice.)

Now let me be clear: I wasn’t bullied, and I don’t carry any anger or resentment about my small stature. Yes, there were plenty of comments made about my appearance. But, sadly this is part of growing up, and going to school with other kids who are also insecure. I owned my body type, and I took full advantage of my high metabolism (In-N-Out double double, please!). But, it wasn’t until recently that I began to realize how much this story had impacted my own view of my body. I, too thought of myself as small, weak, and sometimes incapable. This belief would present itself in the simplest forms. “Wes, can you please open this jar?” I would give it a quick try, then resign to the fact that the jar of pickles must be stronger than I was. I wasn’t giving myself a chance to demonstrate my strength. I wasn’t celebrating all that my body is capable of.

There is something about witnessing trauma that opens up a door to self reflection.

This pandemic has been devastating for our planet. It’s a moment in time that will not be forgotten, and it has brought with it a tidal wave of emotions. We may compare it to other life events, where we find strength in the things we’ve already overcome. I spent some time recently reflecting on a few of my life’s big moments.

My self reflection led me to this question of strength. Fear often consumes me when I see the headlines, but I continue to shift my mindset. I am choosing to focus on my strength, and I’m celebrating what I know my body is capable of.

What it has already proven to be capable of.

I have survived a frightening hospital stay with days full of questions and hundreds of tests. My body underwent an open lung biopsy, and recovered from that procedure, as well as the illness that caused it.

I have delivered two strong and wild little boys. One of whom the doctor’s joked was delivered twice. A breach baby coming fast and furious. Nurses instructing me to “fight the urge to push,” so we could proceed with the necessary C-Section. And then not having time to be fully numbed for said C-Section.

I have carried a thirty pound bag of dog food, plus several bags of groceries, and my giant mom backpack from the car to the house. I’m flexing my muscles as I write this.

All of these things are worthy of celebrating, and are proof that my body is indeed capable of incredible things. That I am not fragile.

I’m not all bony elbows, and skinny frame.

I may not fall in a very impressive weight class, but it is not about a number on the scale. I am stronger than I look, and stronger than even I give myself credit for. As I learn to celebrate my smallness, I will also show it respect. I will not assume my body isn’t up to the challenge, simply because of my size. I will remember all that it has been through. I will face challenges with strength; because I am strong.