Little Legs, Big Heart

We all know it doesn’t work that way. Eventually, there came that time when I looked at myself in the mirror and wished that I was someone else, that I had a body that was proportionate and beautiful in the eyes of everyone. I looked at my life and told myself, “That will never happen no matter how hard I try. It’s just a dream. Not all dreams come true.” After Mom and Dad tucked me in at night and closed my door, I threw back my covers, got onto my knees, and prayed. Every night. I prayed hard. I would have one-sided conversations with God, “Why was I born this way? Why was I dealt such a difficult hand?” Was he listening? When you’re growing up, everything matters. You have to be like everyone else. Why does it matter? Because your “friends” say that it does. If they don’t like you, who will? Fear steps in. The fear that we won’t have any friends. We will be alone. We aren’t good enough. So, what is left? We have to change. Sadly, I started to believe what I once promised myself I wouldn’t. “Kristen, you can’t.” “No.” Fear told me not to own my emotions—that they would only make me weaker. When I was hurt, I hid my anger and sadness. The wall I was building in front of the real me was so high that I could no longer scale it. Fear was wrong; it always is. Why else would it stand for false emotions appearing real? While some people continued to confirm what fear had instilled in me, there were those who weren’t so resistant to my dreams. People fought for me. My parents. My brother. My family. My teachers. My friends. All of them. They reintroduced and consecrated the phrase “you can,” into my vocabulary. When I said, “I can’t,” they retaliated. “Kristen, you can.” It came down to two choices. I could give up and let others dictate my life—or I could keep going and fight for what I wanted. I was not going to let anyone hold me down. No one was going to extinguish my flame—no matter how much it hurt. June 3 was fast approaching, and I was ready. It has always been important to me that people know: my parents left me standing on an open field. They assured me support in any decision that I made, no matter which side I ran to. Honestly, Dad was pretty hesitant at first. He feared the possible complications of the procedure and arthritis as a result. Still, my internal compass was pointing to Dr. Paley in Baltimore. At twelve years old, when most of my friends were deciding whether or not to go to a private middle school, I came to stand at a crossroads. The surgeries were not a Band-Aid or cure for my dwarfism. The promise of correcting complications I was already experiencing and preventing future ones was my primary motivation. The added inches would make independence in an average height world accessible. There wasn’t a question or doubt in my mind that I was making the right decision. As one window closed, a very large door opened—and my strength of will was soon to be tested to the max.