For a long time, I bent myself into shapes I thought would make me easier to love—quieter, simpler, more digestible. I dimmed the loud parts, tucked away the messy ones, and kept editing until I barely recognized myself.

But love—real love—shouldn’t require shrinking.

The kind that comes from friends, from partners, even from within, makes space for your full self. The loud. The layered. The tender. The real.

I’m no longer interested in being a softer version of me just to meet someone else’s comfort zone. I’m here to take up space, exactly as I am.