Considering I have both cervical and lumbar (top and bottom, so to speak) spinal damage, I sometimes wisecrack that I’m waiting for a spine transplant. (Hey, it seems more effective than some of the meds and treatments I subject myself to now.) The rest of the joke is that I want a longer spine, since I’m really a tall woman in a short body. As a teen, I admired Cher’s magnificently long legs and torso.

Today, the joke led to observations from friends, some who commented they could see my personality as a tall woman, some who could not. We all laughed, which was the most important part of the conversation.

But it led me to think more on the subject.

Why do I like to picture myself as tall and why do I perceive that as “better”? What part of my personality reflects a tall image?

Perhaps it’s about the clothes (yes). Perhaps it’s about the sense of self I perceive tall women possessing – presence, confidence, authority. Would Emma Thompson be the success she is at 5’2”? (Probably, because she’s amazing with an infectious laugh, but her height – and clothes – project supreme self-esteem.)

Honestly, I’ve never really had a problem being petite, other than clothing challenges and high cupboards. As a child, I thought of myself as somewhat invisible and was content to curl up in chairs with books. As a professional, I learned to speak in front of people, to walk with purpose, to project confidence even when I wasn’t. Most important, I learned to laugh at myself, own my weaknesses, and not take myself too seriously. I became a tall person in a small body.

Then middle age brought an expanding middle. Specifically, a roll around the middle that doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, and not taking the thicker neck and heavier arms with it. Sure, I try to hide it under bigger clothes, but overall, it’s not my biggest concern.

Until I showed up in a yoga class. (Technically, it was gentle yoga with a heavy emphasis on mind-body healing.) It still involved yoga pants and a non-binding top. I wear those for one-on-one sessions with the instructor, but this was a real class with about 20 others. And when I looked in the floor to ceiling mirrors, I saw a short, plump, middle-aged woman who had no idea what to do. All the body shame poured over me. It didn’t help that I was unfamiliar with the movements among people who did. Did they all have perfect bodies? Did they all move in the same direction at the same time? I didn’t really notice. So why the hell did I think anyone was paying attention to me? Clearly, my problem but a feeling I need to work to get over.

My adult daughter never reached 5’0”. I see her difficulties finding clothes and shoes that fit without looking “junior.” I hear bartenders and cashiers question her age. But my daughter is a spitfire, smart and confident in ways that count. She practices yoga as if she were born to it. No one would call her invisible, even if she does love to curl up and read. She may not be a public speaker yet, but she speaks her mind with clarity and sureness. I pray she never looks in a mirror and cringes the way I did.

I still covet Cher’s legs, Emma Thompson’s laugh, and Jamie Lee Curtis’ hair (ok, I’ve almost nailed that one). Next time I buy a top-loading washer, I’ll just have to remember to make sure I can reach the last sock in the tub. And I truly like the idea of a spine transplant as a solution to chronic pain. Get working on that, millennials! The acceptance part of my real self: that’s all on me.

UPDATE: About that healing yoga class – way out of my comfort zone. In follow-up conversation with the instructor, I discovered two other participants were also newcomers and didn’t particularly know her. The story I had told myself was wrong. Another woman honored her limits by participating from a seated position throughout. The lesson: embrace the reality that my self-talk may not be true. Jump out of my comfort zone (not the airplane; thanks Ali!) and discover the water may not be as cold as I expect. It might even become a comfort zone.