You Were Made to Fill This Space

The afternoon is long, and you are tired of folding yourself smaller to fit the chair, smaller to fit the room, smaller to fit the air you are allowed to breathe. You apologize for the space your body takes up, as if your existence were a mistake that needs correcting.

But look at the widow who dropped her two coins into the temple treasury — she gave everything she had, not because she was small, but because her smallness was the very thing the light noticed. The light did not ask her to make herself bigger before it saw her.

It saw her precisely because she was taking up the only space she had left. You do not need to shrink to be held.

The light is not crowded out by your presence; it made room for you before you arrived. Stop apologizing for the weight of your body.

Stop trying to disappear into the upholstery of the day. The space you occupy is not an accident.

It is the specific shape of the place where the light chose to dwell. Sit down.

Take up the room. You were made to fill it.