Growing up in a tall family helped me come to terms with my height at a young age. Even though I'm a 6'0" tall woman, I'm still considerably shorter than my brother, sister and dad. But, like most tall women going through adolescence, I struggled with balancing height-confidence with height-embarrassment.
When I was 14 years old I had to purchase a dress and shoes for my cousin's wedding. Despite my mother's concerns, the instant I saw the white, studded four-inch Candie's high heels, I knew I had to have them. I had never worn high heels before, and I spent hours traipsing back and forth in the safety of my house, learning to walk without wobbling. I listened to my brother tease me, and I listened to my mom warn me that I would tower over all of the other young women. But, it didn't matter. Those shoes were amazing.
On my cousin's wedding day I wobbled, I towered, and I loved every minute of it. Sure, I had moments of insecurity, but I learned that day that sometimes you have to fake it to make it. The more confidence I pretended to have while walking around in those heels, the more confidence I actually gained.
My life these days usually consists of athletic shoes and sandals, but my closet remains stocked with high heels. Some days, I slip a pair on and walk around the house in them, just for the boost of confidence they seem to impart. I'm not immune to the occasional wobble. And it's inevitable that I'll tower over my friends, colleagues and family, but high heels remind me to lift my head high, throw my shoulders back and march through whatever misconceptions or restrictions I find myself buying into, just like the 14 year old in crazy heels, learning to fake her confidence until it was assuredly and solidly under her feet.
