It’s hard to put into words how much of my self-confidence has been shaped—sometimes warped—by my height. I’m 6’4” and I don’t think there’s ever been a moment when I didn’t feel huge. Not just tall, but huge: always visible, never able to fade into the background, always standing out whether I want to or not.
People are quick to point out my posture, the way I round my shoulders and try to make myself smaller. They assume it’s just a bad habit, but for me it’s more like self-defense. Straightening up and standing tall feels like shouting, “Look at me!” in every room I enter.
It’s exhausting. Most days, I just want to exist without being noticed. I avoid going out because I’m tired of the looks and the comments—tired of never finding clothes or shoes that fit, tired of feeling like an outsider everywhere I go. My feet always look enormous, and every time I catch my reflection, I see someone who looks awkward, like I’m in the wrong body. I used to love the idea of going out, but now nightclubs, parties, even shopping trips feel like walking onto a stage.
Growing up Latina, there was always this stereotype hanging over me: that Latinas are supposed to be “petite and cute.” I’ve always been the exact opposite. I can’t tell you how many times I wished I could just shrink, or how many nights I lay in bed wishing I could wake up different—smaller, more “normal.” When I was a teenager, it was so overwhelming I wondered if there was something seriously wrong with me for feeling so out of place. Sometimes it hurt so much I honestly didn’t want to keep going.
There are times when I try to own it. I remind myself that people will look, but their opinions don’t define me. Some days, I can hold my head high and not shrink away from the attention. But there are just as many days when it feels easier to hide—at work, at school, in the grocery store. I’ve learned to find the nearest chair just to take the edge off, to blend in a little more. I know people find me intimidating, and I go out of my way to be extra friendly, just to show I’m not.
Dating is its own minefield. People don’t talk about this, but being a tall woman makes dating feel like an impossible puzzle. On apps, most guys swipe left the minute they see my height. In person, some men seem fascinated—but only in a way that feels like I’m a novelty, not a real romantic option. I’m constantly made to feel like I’m “too much,” and the idea of being “the little spoon” or feeling protected just seems out of reach. Sometimes, if I’m honest, I feel like I don’t fit anywhere, not even in the places where people are supposed to look for love.
And then there’s the well-meaning advice: “Don’t worry, you’ll find a man who loves tall women!” Or, “Just date taller guys!” Like it’s really that simple. As if tall men are just waiting around for tall women, and as if it’s all about inches anyway. Mostly, I just wish people would stop making my height the first thing they see and the first thing they talk about, as if that’s all there is to me.
Being tall wasn’t always this hard. I hit six feet by the time I was ten, and 6’2” at almost twelve. The bullying was relentless. I left one school for another, hoping it would get better, but the teasing never really stopped. Girls at school would try on my shoes for laughs, make jokes about my height, call me names, question if I was really a girl. I spent years scouring stores for shoes that didn’t look ridiculous on my feet—good luck finding anything cute in a size ten. It’s still a struggle.
People try to be positive. “You’re an Amazon!” “So powerful!” “You must feel so confident.” Sometimes I wish I did. Sometimes I wish I wanted to be the center of attention, to “own the room.” But that’s not me. I just want to feel normal. I want to feel feminine in my own way, not someone else’s idea of what a tall woman should be.
There’s also this constant push to compensate—to be prettier, thinner, more stylish—like if I can’t be small, maybe I can be something else people admire. Maybe then people won’t see me as a spectacle, but as a person. Sometimes I wish I was striking enough for people to think “model” instead of “oddity.” Most of the time, I just wish I was invisible. I love face masks—not just for health reasons, but because they let me hide for a while. I can walk down the street and hope that people just wonder, not judge.
I miss being able to blend in. I remember what it felt like, back when I was younger and not quite so tall, to move through the world without being noticed. I could just exist, wear what I wanted, do what I wanted, and not worry about double-takes or comments. Now, I know people are looking, even if I try to convince myself otherwise.
Being a 6’4” woman means constantly negotiating with the world—and with myself. Some days I stand tall. Some days I want to disappear. Most days, I just want to be seen for who I am, not just how high up my head is from the ground.