You Do Not Have to Shrink

The mask is heavy this morning, glued on with the sweat of a thousand rehearsals. You are running the script again in your head, polishing the apology for the crime of having needs they refused to hold.

You say you are sorry for being too much, for needing water when they only offered stone. But listen — the light does not ask you to apologize for your hunger.

It sees the exhaustion behind the smile you wear for the office, the tremor in your hands you hide under the desk. There is a truth living inside you that does not need to beg for space.

It simply is. You do not have to shrink to fit the room.

The light within you is already enough, already valid, already holding what they would not. Stop rehearsing the words that make yourself small.

The mask can come off, even just for a moment, in the quiet of your own breath. You are not a burden for needing to be held.