I’m about six foot and three hundred mumble mumble lbs.
By definition any god who is taking up residence in my corpus has to be, if only for the temporary duration they are doing so, smaller than that.
In fact the god who most often can be found inside me measures 750ml on average, though lately with my tolerance being so freakishly high I have to consume two or three times that amount of him to even begin feeling anything.
Giants are bigger than both of us. Thankfully my god knows how to handle them.
You exhaust them to death by letting them kill you as many times as it takes:
The story says that the giants found Bacchus inebriated. After they tore him to pieces limb by limb, they buried the bits, and a little while later he arose alive and whole. We read that the disciples of Orpheus interpreted this fiction philosophically and that they represent this story in his sacred rites. (The Third Vatican Mythographer 12.5)
Or you show them your ass:
According to Eratosthenes, after Jupiter had declared war on the giants he summoned all the gods to combat them, and Father Liber, Volcanus, the satyrs, and the silens came riding on asses. Since they were not far from the enemy, the asses were terrified, and individually let out a braying such as the giants had never heard. At the noise the enemy took hastily to flight, and thus were defeated.” (Hyginus, Astronomica 2.23)