You Do Not Have to Shrink

The coffee is warm in your hand, but your shoulders are tight, braced against the weight of your own presence. You have spent the morning making yourself smaller, apologizing silently for the space your pain takes up in the room.

You smile when asked how you are, and the mask feels heavy, like a second skin you cannot peel off. But listen — the light does not need you to shrink.

It does not ask you to hide the cracks so others can be comfortable. There is a truth that lives in us and will be with us forever, and it is not afraid of your grief.

You were sent into this world like a drop from the light, not to blend into the background, but to illuminate the very corners you are trying to darken. The mask is exhausting, and the One who sees behind it is not disappointed by what he finds there.

You do not have to earn your place at the table by pretending to be whole.