I’m 5’0 tall. While most people don’t think about their height all that much, I think about mine quite frequently because I’m quite aware that this isn’t the height I was supposed to be when I was born. You know how doctors can kinda predict how tall you’re going to be when you’re born? Well, my pediatrician told my family that I’d be roughly the same height as my mom, 5’8; well apparently I’ve fallen short of that expectation. Despite the number of reasons why I’m 5’0 tall and the fact that I completely understand all of them, I still let this bother me because to put it simply, I got jipped 8 inches. Some days it bothers me more than others simply because I let it and not because there’s a genuine reason.

Tall people. Tall people are living the life from the perspective a short person, and so are the people who don’t fall into either category, living with the best of both worlds – the ability to embrace their inner giraffe while still being able to shrink and blend in with the crowd. Short people who know they’re short, are stuck with the latter at all times. We don’t really have a choice unless carrying a step-stool around 24/7 is something that we want to do, which I highly doubt anyone does. There are a lot of pains that come with being short, and some of them are more annoying than anything. Sometimes clothes that are my size numerically just don’t fit like they’re supposed to. Pants are too long, sleeves go way past my wrists, and they always run out of your shoe size because often, little body equals little feet to match. When I sit, my feet don’t always touch the ground, mainly when I go to the movies. Sometimes I even find these annoyances a little bit funny, especially when I look in the mirror and I look like a clown because the clothes I’m trying on dwarf my petite frame. However, the one thing that bothers me the most is that for some things, I’m entirely dependent on other people.

The world isn’t made for those under 5’5, and sometimes that becomes painfully obvious. There are parts of my kitchen cabinets that I’ve never touched because I simply can’t reach them by myself, and if I were to try by standing on counters or stacking chairs and stools on top of each other, I’d risk the chance of falling and seriously injuring myself. It takes a lot to ask someone else for help no matter what the circumstances. I’m stubborn, I embrace it, and I don’t always like asking for help because I think I can do it even if in the back of my mind I know it’s not true. Being short reminds me that I’m not Wonderwoman, and it’s okay and maybe even slightly embarrassing sometimes when I have to jump to reach the Frosted Flakes, only to have to ask my mom to get them for me. Everyone has something they don’t like about themselves that they wish they could change. For me, it’s my height, but at the same time, I can’t imagine who I would be if I could reach the Frosted Flakes by myself. Being short has become a big part of my personality because it’s a way that I define myself. I love that I can wear heels to make myself taller without being too tall, and although I pretend to hate it, I secretly love it when I’m called cute nicknames like “Short Stack.” Yes, I’m 5’0 tall, so what?