As a child I tended to be one of the biggest girls of my class. When the nuns at school insisted we walked on a line by height order, I always knew my place was about three spots from the end of the line. I hit puberty too early, so at ten I had almost reached my current, average height of 5’ 5”. Looking older than what I was became the norm. In fact, when I was twelve years-old people assumed my sister and I were twins when in reality she is five years older.

Being naturally shy, I did not like the attention. Adults will comment how much I was growing, as if I had any responsibility on it. So I came out with a solution to my desire to become invisible: slouching. Bending my upper back, moving my neck forward actually made me look a few inches shorter. What I did not anticipate is how that was going to damage my posture. But becoming somewhat invisible seemed more important at the moment. As a consequence, It has taken me so many years of constant workouts and yoga to improve my stance slightly.

As I was scanning old photographs recently, I realized how much older than my friends I looked back then. Seeing it with the perspective that maturity gives, I could not find a reason why did it matter so much then. Why did I try to look smaller then? What did I try to become invisible? Why being higher than my friends did even bothered me?