I Belong Deeply to Myself

by Dallas Taylor

My limbs used to ache as they grew. I’d feel the slow and brutal lengthening of bones and the tightness of my skin expanding like canvas stretched over a new framework. I cried as I outgrew my pink sparkly shoes and butterfly jeans, cursing my mother as she replaced them with others that fit me better and passed my prized possessions off in a hand-me-down bag. Eventually, my body reached its final width and height and the soreness subsided. Then, my soul started to grow, too. I cried again, outgrowing people and places, this time letting them go with love, quietly missing them but knowing we would both find someone else to fit us better. At 23, I laid in bed writhing the same way I had at 10, 11, and 12, desperate for comfort, and my bones whispered, “Remember, it’s only temporary, and you’ll be bigger for it.” I felt the pains again at 24, 25, and 26. Now, I greet them with a grateful sigh. What a gift it is to keep growing.