I’m Done Shrinking

What happens when you stop trying to be less noticeable

Photo by Marcel Strauß on Unsplash

I own exactly one pair of sweatpants. And they’re not even that baggy. They’re basically just fuzzy leggings.

I don’t have a single oversized piece of clothing that I don’t immediately cinch with a belt—just to remind the world I have a waist.

I don’t believe in “sizing up.” If anything, I’m more likely to size down.

And I’m not a small woman. Depending on who you ask, I’m either midsize or the low end of plus size. Definitely not sample size.

I’ve spent most of my life pushing against baggy clothes. The loose fits. The dramatic drape. The things that are supposed to be “flattering.”

Maybe they are—for some women.

But on me, they feel like hiding.

And I’m not hiding my body.

More than that—I’m not hiding. Full stop.

And it’s not just about what I wear.

Because hiding doesn’t always look dramatic. It’s quieter than that. Sizing up. Staying quiet. Making yourself just a little less noticeable than you could be. And after a while, it’s not just how you dress. It’s how you show up.

And we don’t do this in a vacuum.

Midlife has a branding problem.

For men, it can be a reset. A glow-up. A whole personality shift if they want it.

For women, it’s a quiet suggestion to tone it down.

Be less visible. Less loud. Less… everything.

And I’m just not interested in that version of the story.

I’ve seen how easy it is to slip into it. To stop raising your hand. To stop wearing the thing. To stop asking for more.

Not all at once. Just… gradually.

But I have never been one to shrink. If anything, this is where I stopped trying to make myself easier to ignore.

And not just when it comes to wearing what I want.

I used to shrink at work.

I’ve always been a behind-the-scenes person. I spent years in event planning, making everything seamless. The kind of seamless where, if you do it well, no one even realizes you were there.

And for a while, that worked for me.

Until it didn’t.

Because I had opinions. Good ones. And I was tired of keeping them to myself.

So I started speaking up in meetings I would have stayed quiet in before.
Started saying the thing instead of softening it.

Turns out, I’m good at being direct. Clear. Not padding my feedback to make it more comfortable for everyone else.

And instead of being “too much,” it became the thing people knew me for.

It wasn’t limited to work, either.

I started pushing for what I wanted in my personal life. More of what I wanted. Not just what was convenient or expected.

More trips. More nights out. Saying yes to plans that felt a little extra. A little indulgent. A little unnecessary—and doing them anyway.

Saying yes to things because they sounded fun. Because I wanted the story. Because I wanted the experience.

Building a life that didn’t feel like something I was just managing, but something I actually liked being in.

And I’m not about to make myself smaller in a life I worked this hard to build.

I am very comfortable taking up space. I am very comfortable being noticed.

And yes, sometimes that looks like what I wear.

It looks like clothes that actually fit my body instead of hiding it. It looks like not sizing up just to make other people more comfortable. It looks like choosing something because I like how I feel in it—not because it makes me less visible.

Lately, it also looks like a big black straw hat.

The kind that absolutely draws attention. The kind you can’t pretend is low-key. The kind that says, very clearly, she’s not trying to disappear. And I know exactly what it looks like.

And I’m not.

Maybe people look. Maybe they judge. Maybe they think I should tone it down.

But I’m not dressing for the version of me that’s easier to ignore.

I dress like someone who’s done shrinking.