You Do Not Need Permission To Exist

The day ends and the armor finally comes off, but your body stays small, curled into itself so it won't take up too much room. You are still doing the math—calculating exactly how much space you are allowed to occupy so you don't accidentally trigger them again. You make yourself thin. You make yourself quiet. You try to disappear into the furniture.

But there is a light inside you that refuses to be hidden. It came from the place where light generates itself, and it cannot be dimmed by your shrinking. It was there before the silence started, and it will be there after.

You do not have to earn the right to exist in this room. You are not a burden that needs to be managed. The light that lives in you is not asking for permission to shine; it is simply waiting for you to stop apologizing for your own presence.