I used to think I had to prove myself to belong. To earn rest, softness, joy. To be liked enough. Quiet enough. Small enough—physically and emotionally. Somewhere along the way, the world convinced me that space was something granted, not something already mine.
But the truth is simple. I was born with space. I didn’t have to shrink to deserve breath. I didn’t have to apologize for the room I take up, the volume of my laugh, the fullness of my body, or the weight of my truth. I didn’t need someone else to make me valid. Nature never asked me to earn a thing—it made me whole from the start.
There’s no test to pass. No gold star required. My existence is not a negotiation. I belong, because I am here. That’s it.
So now, I walk into rooms without tucking myself in. I speak without softening every edge of my voice. I rest without guilt. I eat when I’m hungry. I grieve when I need to. I love with both hands, without feeling like I have to make myself less first.
Because this life—this body, this story, this path—it’s already mine. No one can take that from me. I don’t need permission to be here.
I already am.