Stop Apologizing for the Space You Occupy

The house is quiet now, and the inventory begins. You feel the hunger, the ache, the small desire rising in your chest—and you swallow it back down before it even has a name.

You tell yourself it is safer this way. That to need something is to be a burden.

But look at the space you take up in this room. The light does not measure your worth by how little you ask for.

There was a man who carried a storm inside his mind for years, tearing at him, and when he was finally set free, the light did not tell him to go and be quiet. It said: go home to your family and tell them how much the Lord has done for you.

Your needs are not a weight to hide. They are the very places where the light wants to meet you.

Stop apologizing for the space you occupy. The door is not locked from the outside; you are the one holding the handle, afraid to turn it.

You were made to be known, not to be small.