You Do Not Have to Shrink

The mask is heavy this morning, isn't it? You have spent years making yourself small, folding your edges so you wouldn't brush against anyone else's space.

You play the part of the easy one, the one who needs nothing, because you are terrified that if you finally stand up straight, they will see how much room you actually take up and ask you to leave. But the light does not measure space the way the world does.

It does not calculate your worth based on how little you demand. There was a woman who had been bleeding for twelve years, untouchable, convinced she had no right to be in the crowd.

She thought she had to sneak in, just touch the hem, and run. But when she reached out, the light did not scold her for taking up space.

It stopped the entire procession to find her. It called her Daughter.

The light was not threatened by her need; it was activated by it. You are not an intrusion.

You are not a burden that must be carried quietly. The love that holds you is not a limited resource that runs out when you expand.

It is a room with no walls. You do not have to earn your place by shrinking.

You are already held.