Shrinking (original draft)

Monday, September 15, 2014

Shrinking, into myself

Shrinking, when I’m feeling fat

Shrinking, when I feel attacked

Shrinking, within myself

Shrinking, to accommodate

Shrinking, to calm and placate

Shrinking, to hide and evade

Shrinking, not to intimidate

To avoid physical contact, I shrink.

To appear more feminine and petite, I shrink.

To not seem scary or imposing, I shrink.

When I’ve made a mistake

When I feel I’ve said too much

When I’m afraid I said the wrong thing

When I feel vulnerable and exposed

When I want to disappear

When I feel crushed under the weight and pressure of heavy, intense emotion.

On the outside, it’s just a noticeable change in posture, body language, curling up, folding in, to become a smaller target, perhaps. Squeezing myself into the size I think I should be.

Reducing myself to try to look as small as I feel.

But on the inside, it’s a volcano; an eruption of pain, a desperate release of built up worries, fears, doubts, wounds. An implosion of any and all self-esteem.

This shrink-and-grow routine, unpredictable, compared to the ebb and flow of the tide.

The both are affected by the moon.

Who knows if I’ll ever grow into my body.