Stop Shrinking, You Belong Here

The morning light hits the window and you are already shrinking. You catch yourself saying 'sorry' for taking up space, for breathing the air, for existing in a room you were told you didn't deserve.

The mask goes on—the smile that says 'I'll make myself small so you can be big.' But the light does not ask you to apologize for your footprint. It sees the performance.

It sees the exhaustion of trying to earn the right to stand where you already stand. You are not an intruder in your own life.

You are not a mistake that needs to be corrected before you can speak. The Father's light was placed inside you before you took your first breath—it does not need permission to be here, and neither do you.

Stop shrinking. Stop saying sorry for the space you occupy.

You are not too much. You are exactly enough.