Feeling Small
I have been feeling small lately. Not physically small; I’ve talked quite a bit about living in a larger frame. I’ve been feeling emotionally small and frail these days. Everything around me appears overwhelming.
I remember the same feeling when I first moved to Chicago. I was walking down Wabash Street, and a wave of panic hit. The buildings were towering over me. I grew up in the DMV, and no building is taller than the US Capitol by federal law. I had only really experienced structures 13 floors or shorter. In Chicago, everything was so overwhelming. I felt crowded and suffocated. It took me a couple of weeks to adjust.
I’m feeling this again. I’m feeling crowded and insignificant. I’m sure others are feeling this too.
There is something awful about feeling tiny against your will.
All the strength in the world is zapped from you. You look in the mirror, and your brain says, “you are small.”
I’ve battled this feeling my whole life. It would rise when, as a child, I was bullied. I was a chunky, frizzy-haired, and precocious tomboy, all traits targets for ridicule. My great-aunt complained to my parents that I was “too smart for a girl.” The phrase run around the block still makes me twitch. And being constantly told that my hair was unruly, damaged (it was not), and a mess despite it being gloriously wavy and big still occurs to this day. I would internalize most of the digs. Each one made me feel smaller and smaller.
But sometimes, I didn’t stand there and take it. My brother used to tell a story about our time in elementary school. He walked by my first-grade class and saw me grab a boy by the shirt and get in his face. He asked me later what happened. I told him I was being bullied by those boys and fought back. He was so proud of me. Another time, in my senior year of high school, I saw two guys–one a football linebacker, the other his toadie–taunting a freshman. The poor kid was the epitome of a nerd, but no one deserves to be bullied.
I stepped in between and squared up against the lead bully. “Come on–you want to pick on somebody. Pick on me.” The football player was flummoxed. “This is none of your business,” he bellowed. Mind you, I was in a skirt and a nice top because I had to go to work after school. And while I would never win a fistfight against him, I knew I could get in a punch or two. Thank goodness I’m Irish and know how to throw a right-cross. I wasn’t budging. “No. You want to pick on somebody. Bring it on,” I said directly to his face. The freshman gathered his books and scurried away to safety. A friend came to my aid and stood by my side. We stared them down, and, like always, the bullies backed off. (Thank you, Bob, for standing by my side.)
You see. I hate bullies. Bullies make you feel small and insignificant. They do it to cover up for their own insecurities. They tell themselves that at least I am better than them. But they aren’t. They are the same schmuck as all of us. They bully to cower you into their bidding or, sadly, to make themselves feel better. They enjoy the misery of others.
For those in media right now, it’s a tough time. For those who may be chunky, frizzy-haired, or oddly precocious, it’s even tougher. The bullies are out in full force. Remember why they do what they do: to make themselves feel bigger.
You are not small. You will not cower to bullies.
There is an excellent Treehouse of Horror Simpsons episode where all the billboards and brand mascots come to life, destroying Springfield. Lisa gets help from legendary songwriter/maestro Paul Anka. He comes up with an ad jingle: Just don’t look….just don’t look. He gets the whole town to sing the song and turn their backs to the giant monsters. When the mascots no longer have the public’s attention, they lose their power and collapse to the ground.
It’s the same with bullies. Don’t let them make you feel small. Don’t let them say you aren’t worthy. And if that doesn’t work and you are out of options, look them straight in the face and know the hellfire that will rain down if they keep it up. They aren’t the skyscrapers they think they are. Make sure they know that.
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About the Author:
Shannon Malone-deBenedictis (she/her) is a two-time Emmy award-winning documentary filmmaker, creative consultant, speaker, and facilitator. From writing her first play at age 10 to executive producing documentaries for Disney+, Netflix, and others, she's always loved telling stories. Learn more about Shannon’s speaking topics and creative services at padlincreative.com.
