Tiny

I had three people tell me I look tiny today.

I’m not quite sure how I feel about that.

I’m not tiny. I still weigh 265 pounds. That is not a tiny number. But is the loss of 75 pounds really so significant that I look tiny?

I don’t want to be tiny. Tiny, to me, is potentially vulnerable. And I don’t like someone thinking I may be vulnerable.

Now… I know that these lovely people don’t know what the connotation of that word is for me. So they intended no harm. And so I take no offense. But it still gives me great pause.

And this is why I sometimes wish I were a single-celled organism. Then I really wouldn’t have a brain. And I could just stop thinking quite so much. Sense a trend?

I do.

EDIT: So was speaking with 15 last evening and he had a very interesting question.  He ask if, when we are horsing-around and he lifts me … does this bother me in the same way as being called tiny does.

Hmmmmm.  Ok…that is a very valid question.

The answer is not.  And then I got to thinking.  When I am laying and being, simply, held… I feel small in his arms.  And I like that feeling.

So… I had to work that out a bit.  I believe it has to do with trust and comfort. As a child we generally find comfort in our parents arms… so we come into adulthood (or I did!) conditioned to find comfort in being held.  And our parents were, for a long time, larger than us…their arms encircling our bodies.  Holding.  Rocking.  So, as an adult, if I am being held by someone I trust…and I feel small…its OK.

But… someone I don’t know in that way.  Someone I do not trust…calling me small or tiny.  That feels threatening.

Yup..took me most of the night to do this thinking.  Which was good because I was freaking up anyway!