There’s a particular ache that comes when someone confirms the thing you were already afraid of. The quiet whisper you’ve tried to silence. The one that says, “You’re not enough.” Or maybe worse, “You’re too much.”
I’ve been single for a long time. Not because I’m unlovable but because I’ve spent years unlearning the idea that I have to earn love by being smaller, quieter, easier to digest. I’ve done the inner work. I’ve shown up for myself when no one else did. I’ve raised kids, led teams, healed from trauma, built a life out of ashes.
And still, when a man told me that he’s always been attracted to really small women (which I am not!) it hit me like a sucker punch. He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t unkind. But he was clear. And that clarity landed right on top of a wound I thought I had already buried.
Let me be honest… it hurt.
Not because I thought he was the one, but because there’s something brutal about being reminded that no matter how capable, loving, or soulful you are, some people will only ever see the outside. And if your outside doesn’t match their mold, they’ll look right past the depth and say, “This isn’t it for me.”
It’s not rejection that stings, it’s the reduction.
But here’s what I know now: I was never meant to beg for space in someone else’s small view. I was never meant to be chosen for my convenience or my waistline. I was made to be chosen for my presence. My strength. My laugh. My wisdom. My fire.
For the way I hold it all, the grief and the grit, the beauty and the burden.
I’m not here to fit someone’s fantasy of what “perfect” looks like. Because I’ve learned that people are allowed their preferences. But I am allowed my boundaries. I am allowed to walk away from anything that makes me feel small. I am allowed to not be for everyone. I am allowed to be enough just as I am.
So, when that message came through and confirmed what I feared that my body, the one that has survived so much, isn’t his type and I let myself feel it. I sat with the sting. I didn’t shrink from it. Because I’ve learned that allowing yourself to feel isn’t weakness it’s strength and emotional intelligence. That’s where pain turns into power.
And if you’ve ever had someone, make you feel like your worth is conditional; on your size, your age, your past, your pain then I want to tell you this:
Their opinion doesn’t get to define you.
You don’t exist to be palatable. You don’t exist to shrink. You exist to expand into your wholeness, your voice, your truth.
I’m not for everyone. And honestly, thank God for that.
Because I’m not interested in being anyone’s maybe. I’m holding out for the hell yes. The soul yes. The one who sees me, not just my body or my past, but the woman I’ve become through it all.
And until then, I’ll keep walking with my head high, even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.
Because this is what rising looks like.
With love and resilience,
Lish
If this touched something tender in you or if you’ve ever questioned your worth because of how someone else saw (or didn’t see) you, I’d love to hear your story. Drop a comment below. Let’s remind each other that we’re not alone, and we are so much more than anyone’s narrow opinion. We rise better together.