Take Up Space
The first time I physically felt the impact of not taking up space I was 41. I was on a date with my husband at an incredible Sushis and Sashimis (Letterkenney reference, google it) restaurant in West Seattle. After dreaming of eating sushi, I was finally cleared by my doctors to eat it. Being on immune suppression had prevented me from eating a lot different things over the last few years. Sushi was what I missed the most. Unfortunately, as we excitedly entered the restaurant, they told us the did not have a reservation listed for us. The only two open seats were at the end of the bar, where the servers entered and exited the kitchen. My eyes pleaded with my husband to take the seats. I knew he wouldn’t want to sit in such an awkward spot.
In spite of his initial reluctance, we accepted the seats. It was tight. My 6 foot 5 inch husband took the outer seat at the end and I sat in the other seat, shoulder to shoulder with the man sitting on the other side of me. The best part of these seats was the proximity to the Sushi Chef. She talked about how they won’t use freshwater eel because it is endangered, how they don’t use dyes for their pickled ginger, and how they steep their octopus for a long time to make it tender. Her insight added to the enjoyment of each dish.
I was astutely aware of the man next to me. I heard him chewing and talking to his dining partner. He seemed comfortable, legs falling open, arms resting on the bar, his body so close to mine. He didn’t seem to care or be aware of our proximity to each other. He bumped me several times without acknowledgment. I sipped from my wine glass with a ballerina’s grace. Elbows tucked into my torso. My body tense and taught. I shifted uncomfortably—but gingerly—in my chair every few minutes making sure to keep my hands in my lap.
About 20 minutes into our meal, a shooting pain traveled from my right shoulder blade to my neck. Sharp and intense. With my left hand I massaged my neck lightly. My shoulders practically resting under my earlobes, I paused to examine my body position. I laughed to myself when I realized I was making myself as small as I could so that I didn’t spill out of my allocated space. I am 5 foot 10.5 inches tall—not a small woman. Yet, here I am trying to keep my presence confined and unobtrusive so that I didn’t disrupt the man sitting next to me.
I had been working so hard to not impede into this other person’s space. I was willing to physically be in discomfort to ensure his. It suddenly became a metaphor for how I moved through my life: trying to take up as little space as possible so others wouldn’t be bothered by me. It’s funny how an ordinary experience can be transformative.
As all this unfolded for me in my mind, I started to chuckle out loud. My husband asked what was up. I waved my hand, smiled and shook my head to signal I’d explain later. I breathed in deeply and exhaled. I let my shoulders return to their normal position. I let my legs relax and spread a little. I put my elbow on the bar.
The man next to me didn’t even notice. I wasn’t bothering him at all.
Take up space.
Happy (belated) International Women’s Day.