small
I walk through the world like an apology. Every footstep whispers I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the space I take. I’m sorry that I’m tired, and scared, and lonely. That after years of failing and fucking it all up I still don’t know what I’m doing.
From childhood on, I was praised for being quiet. Self-sufficient. For not needing to be managed. For not needing…anything. I mistook it for a virtue. A badge of honor. An identity.
I keep my life small. Unobtrusive. Always looking for more to let go of. For more ways to keep it shrinking. I call it protection and self-preservation. Safety and simplicity. A way of avoiding exposure, loss, and vulnerability. But really, it’s just hiding. It’s erasure. It’s disappearing.
Dwindling only garners apathy and despondency. It suffocates hope. Leaves it no room to breathe and believe. “To be hopeful”, says Rebecca Solnit says, “is to take on a different persona, one that risks disappointment”.
Hope refuses smallness. To be hopeful means being open and expansive. It means allowing yourself to be visible and unapologetic. It’s knowing that the hurt will come and deciding to still lean in. Hope is what happens when there’s skin in the game. When something is at stake. It’s the evidence of the greatest gift you have to yourself and the world around; that you care deeply.
Contracting yourself into something smaller may be great for survival. But hope is the quiet act of rebellion that teaches you what living is.
May your openness make you stronger.
May you take up space without asking permission.
May hope always find you spacious, even at the risk of hurt, failure, and disappointment.
In case no one’s told you today, I love you with all my everything.
I just discovered your work, and wow what a blessing to start the year with. Not just the message but the lyricism. Your writing sings to me. This piece in particular. Oof. Did i feel this. Thank you for sharing.
And so hard …