I don't even know if this counts as a confession, more like a… whatever. A feeling. It's stupid, really. It was my best friend's wedding, you know? Like, huge deal, she's been planning it forever. And of course, I'm a bridesmaid. I said yes immediately. She picked out these dresses, super fitted, blush pink. And I mean, I tried it on, it looked okay, but then I remember thinking, "God, my shoulders look like a goddamn linebacker in this." But what are you gonna say? It was *her* day. So I just, like, bought it. Because that's what you do. The day itself was a blur, all the getting ready, the mimosas, the hair and makeup. And everyone was saying how beautiful she looked, and she *did*. She really did. But the whole time I'm just… pulling at this dress. Trying to subtly yank it down, or smooth it, or whatever. It was tight. Too tight. And I'm not, like, *fat* but I'm not a dainty little thing either. I'm tall, always have been, and yeah, I got broad shoulders from years of carrying art supplies and probably just… existing. My mom always called it a "strong build." Which, bless her heart, but it just means I look like a brick shithouse next to most women. So we're up there, standing next to her, during the actual ceremony. And I swear to god, I could feel it. The whispers. I know they weren't, probably. My brain is just a fucking asshole sometimes. But I kept catching people's eyes, mostly the older relatives, and they'd look me up and down, and then turn to their neighbor and murmur something. I swear I heard a "big girl" once. Or maybe I made it up. But it felt real. Like they were all thinking, "Look at *her* standing up there, towering over everyone, busting out of that dress." And I just wanted to disappear. Wanted to crawl under a pew or something. My face felt hot. My armpits were sweating, even though it wasn't that warm. I just stood there, staring at the back of the groom's head, trying to make myself small. Which is literally impossible when you're almost six feet tall and wearing a dress that was clearly made for someone with, like, a 28-inch ribcage. It's just… a weird feeling, you know? To be so happy for someone you love, but also just wishing you weren't *there*, exactly. Wishing you were… I don't know. Different. And then I felt guilty for even thinking that. Like I'm a bad friend. I'm supposed to be celebrating, not internally dissecting my collarbones. It’s dumb, I guess. It’s just a dress. And it was one day. But it's this feeling that just… sticks. Like, why do I even care what those random aunties think? I should be above that. I'm almost 40, for chrissakes. But then I come home, and I'm staring at my canvases, all these big, expressive pieces, and I just think, "No wonder no one buys my stuff. Everything I make is too… much. Too big." And I don't know. I don't know what to do with that. It's not like I can just shrink. So yeah. That's my big confession. Feeling like a giant, badly-dressed ogre at my best friend's wedding. Fucking stupid.