I spent years learning how to shrink myself—
emotionally, spiritually, even physically.
Not because I wanted to be small, but because I thought it was safer.
I learned early on that taking up too much space, especially with my emotions, could make people uncomfortable.
And when people were uncomfortable, they left.
The Lie I Learned as a Child
I didn’t always know the words for it, but I learned early: I was too much.
When I was a child, my mother would lock herself in the bathroom to get high.
I didn’t understand what she was doing back then—I only knew that she was hiding. From me.
And when she’d finally come out, her eyes would be glazed over. She wasn’t really there.
And in those moments, neither was I.
Even when she wasn’t high, she was often dissociated.
So I adapted.
I became quiet. Careful.
I tried to be what I thought she needed: good, calm, easy to manage.
I learned to be small, so I wouldn’t be rejected.
The Ways I Still Shrink
Even now, as an adult, I catch myself holding back.
I feel things deeply—so deeply it scares me sometimes.
But instead of expressing those feelings, I often try to filter them first.
Make them softer. Smaller. More acceptable.
I over-process before I speak.
And in doing so, many things go unsaid.
Not because I don’t feel them, but because I’ve been taught to fear them.
To fear that if I speak too loudly or feel too deeply, I’ll be left behind.
I still catch myself apologizing for feeling too much.
Still wondering if my presence might be too heavy for someone to hold.
Motherhood: The Mirror and the Invitation
Becoming a mother forced me to face this fear in a new way.
My son is full of big emotions—loud ones, raw ones, honest ones.
And sometimes, I feel irritation rise in me when he’s too loud or cries too long.
But I’ve learned to pause and ask: Is this really about him… or is this about me?
Almost always, it’s about me.
About the little girl who never had permission to cry freely.
To speak loudly.
To simply exist without performance.
So I choose to lean in.
To sit with him.
To let his big feelings be okay, even when they trigger mine.
Because he’s not the problem.
And neither was I.
Reclaiming My Right to Take Up Space
There are still days I hesitate to be fully seen.
But I’m learning to speak without apology.
To ask for what I need.
To let myself exist—loudly, softly, honestly.
I tell myself now: My existence matters.
I don’t have to shrink to be safe.
I don’t have to hide to be loved.
I am not too much.
I am whole.
Final Thoughts
For too long, I dimmed my light to make others comfortable.
But I’ve realized: I was never too much.
I was just deeply feeling. Deeply alive.
And that was never too much.
So now, I show up fully.
I take up space on purpose.
And I let that be enough.