Taking up too much space

17 Jul 2025

You made a comment today. And suddenly I was back— Not in a memory, But in a feeling I thought I’d outgrown. That room with too many voices, Too many eyes that never met mine, Only glanced, judged, And moved on. They never said I was too much. They didn’t have to. It was in the empty seat beside me, The way they shifted in shared silence, As if my presence disrupted their symmetry. So I learned to take up less air. Folded myself at the edges, Muted the color in my voice, Smiled smaller, laughed softer. But still—they laughed louder. Even my friends. Especially them. And no one ever asked Why the girl who once lit up rooms Now lingered in shadows. No one noticed the way My smile dimmed And never quite came back. Except you. And I hated that your words still hurt, That they traced the same bruises With better intentions. I hated that you could still reach that version of me— The one who flinches when seen. But then… you said “I’m sorry.” And you meant it. It won’t undo the years Of apologizing to myself for existing. It won’t make me trust your kindness yet— I’ve learned to look for the edge in compliments. But your apology… It was the first soft thing Offered without condition. And that little girl— the one I buried under careful smiles and silence— Looked up. Uncurled, just slightly. And for the first time in a long time, She didn’t feel too much. She almost smiled.