When I was a young girl
I was never little. I had early onset puberty such that I was the size of an 8 year old at 4, -and not that tall/skinny “Wow, your kid shot up in a hurry!” type of tall, no -I had small little breast buds forming by the time I entered Kindergarten.
By 3rd grade kids would ask, “Why’s the teacher walking in the middle of the line?”
I was a giant - in fact, they called me the Jolly Green Giant when I entered a new school in the 4th grade. The words: “big boned” were often used.
The doctors ran test after test, convinced I had a pituitary tumor affecting my growth. I was sent through MRIs, blood draws, cat-scans - and these were your early 80s cat-scans, the stay-stock-still-for-an-hour+-in-a-tunnel whilst we scan errrythang & more. Of course they forgot to shoot in the dye, so of course we did the entire scan again.
At 4 years old I was pretty sure I was dying.
Eventually the verdict was in: I was just big as hell.
My dad was proud. He’d ask the carnival workers to guess my age at the county fair.
I was like a huge award winning pumpkin, even more so when the doctor just said, “I guess you’ll have the rare gift of a whole lotta height! You can grow up to be a professional basket ball player!” -My dad beamed, I deflated. Doc faltered, “…or maybe a model?” I re-inflated a bit. I was going to be gorgeous. I was going to walk the runway! I was going to need to burn these glasses….
(& y’all, that was the only GOOD picture of me during these years. Vogue-esque even...)
I was an odd anomaly, but I didn’t notice.
I lived in a world of the forest. I would run out the back door and explore the trees, scamper over every bit of land there was. I would explore them until they ended in pale fields with dirt roads winding to nowhere towards evergreen forests beyond the scope of where the old dinner bell would be heard. I explored fields and fields and more trees, and eventually that reverie-killer: asphalt.
My dad would ask what I wanted for my birthday and I’d say: a small lake perhaps? A river? A proper creek would do… I wanted more wilds. I wanted more forest, I wanted the asphalt boundary to disappear.
My make believe adventures were where I lived. I was a human ambassador queen to the trees. We’d talk, sometimes they gave me a crown. The few imaginary friends or beings were mostly nice …& I never thought much about how I was a normal size when I was with them. I was glorious there, in the forests and the fields. I was beautiful, powerful, kind & wise. I was me, as I was inside my head unto myself.
One day my growth stopped. 4th grade, 9 years old -it just ran its course & there I was: size C bosoms, womanly hips, 5 foot 5 & 3/4 inches tall, wearing a size 9 shoe. I was done. I looked 15. My modeling career evaporated, and a part of me was so pissed off. The only special thing about me was the number of boys staring constantly at my overtly large chest.
Look, the glasses were still amongst us, the bones were still, um, “big”? I was still a giant among the weedy 4th graders, but I was finished. Eventually everyone would catch up. But right before they did I got contacts, I cut my hair, my “big bones” were just the average size of a young woman. Overnight in the 6th grade -I was a babe.
And all the attention exploded. I was amazing.
But you know what I thought? I thought: Naturally.
Now the role of puberty ridden hormones that had the boys giving me all that attention wasn’t my thing. I wasn’t thinking “Naturally they have noticed my magnificent bosom.” I was thinking, “Naturally they’ve noticed my magnificence.”
They must sense that I am an ambassador queen to the trees!
And that’s when I started to notice all the gals coming into insecurity about their bodies. I started watching that puberty moment of wheedling doubt and discomfort.
I cocked my head to the side like a dog hearing but not understanding,
“What is happening to my acquaintances who used to run after the soccer ball like the wind, or swing upside down on the playground completely carefree singing at the top of their lungs?” What is this new thing?
And I watched it continue to ripple through folks for decades.
My odd little self would make an occasional timid friend. Say to them, “You are magnificent! Close your eyes.” & I’d turn them around -the standard magical three times. We’d stand in front of the mirror, my hands on their shoulders I’d say, “Open your eyes.”
They’d open their eyes, at first hopeful and then they’d wilt. They’d say, “But you’re beautiful. I’m just not.” And I’d cock my head to the side again.
What on earth were they seeing?
Decades later I realized it wasn’t what they were seeing, it’s what they weren’t.
They weren’t tapping into the world inside wherein they were exactly the creature they were hoping to see, they were remaining rigidly and firmly locked into the present with its wilted flower narrative and one dimensional view. And I have to tell you, I haven’t met much that couldn’t be fixed a bit with a firmer foot in fairytale. I was of average good looks if we’re being honest, but when they looked at me they were seeing my confidence about my magnificence & I was beeeaaauutiful. It didn’t arrive with contacts, a haircut, & a newly understood magnificent bosom, it grew inside my imagination and my inner world.
Recently I learned we don’t all do this. We aren’t all living in the damn-straight-I’m-magnificent-world of our dreams.
I want to offer you a magic spell, a star for your palm, a practice to begin:
Imagine yourself as the heroine of your own world. (I don’t care if it feels silly. Magic happens even when we’re feeling like a complete fool.) Close your eyes.
You are deeply talented, able to do any single thing of your dreams. You are singing on stage to a standing ovation. You are dancing and taking the audience’s breath away. You are running through a field as swift as wind beside a herd of horses.
You are giving a ted talk and you are a confident magnetic queen.
You are whatever-it-is. You are whatever you dream.
Now go on a walk. Earbuds in your ears listening to your most favorite song. Keep going. Keep dreaming. Keep believing in your magnificence. Do it until you don’t feel silly. Do it until it’s what you turn to bored in your car in traffic. Do it until it fits.
That is the only magic in the mirror. That’s the only thing that makes any of us the fairest of them all.
~
This is my new substack
-I don’t want to call it a newsletter - it’s more a place to share it all with you. I’m aiming to publish twice a month. I might write about:
something as simple as what I’m thinking • building a soulful handmade life • where & from whom I draw inspiration - and then how it morphs • maybe about our humorous home improvement projects on our 1880s farmplace • gardening & fighting the voles • seasonal year practices • marriage & leaving & returning • dreams & how they’re coming along • potentially a separate section about the tales of Blueberry Littlewings (a world imagined for our little girl) • maybe some subjects of gravity like loss, grief, abuse, shame -& I’ll note a trigger warning if I write about those subjects.
I’m most passionate about inspiring women to ignite & grow their ember of confidence, grow their personal inspiration, and create incredibly rich and juicy worlds fostering their most unabashed spirits.
I’m calling the substack Hand Full of Stars, because it’s going to encompass all of those things, my whole world through the lens of my writing. If of interest, I hope you’ll share it & consider donating to the work of it.
So much love & magic to you,
Sarahbeth