Stop Shrinking to Fit the Door

You caught yourself again. Mid-sentence.

Shoulders hunching, voice dropping, offering a small, reflexive apology for the space you occupy. As if your presence is an imposition.

As if you need to make yourself smaller to fit into a room the world told you was never meant for you. But notice — the air did not recoil when you walked in.

The floor held your weight without complaint. The light is already here, filling the very corners you feel guilty for touching.

You do not need to earn the right to stand on this ground. The Good came into your midst to restore every nature to its root, and your root is not an accident.

It is a home. Stop shrinking to fit a door that was built wide enough for you all along.