Somewhere along the way, we were taught that being lovable meant being less. Less loud. Less needy. Less emotional. Less visible. And for many of us, especially as women, that idea latched onto our bodies too—telling us to shrink, to tone down, to disappear just enough to be acceptable.
But here’s the truth: love doesn’t ask us to disappear. It asks us to be. Fully. Honestly. Boldly.
I used to think that if I could just become smaller—physically, emotionally, in presence—I’d finally be enough. That I’d be easier to hold, easier to want, easier to love. But all that shrinking did was pull me further from myself. It dulled my light. It made me afraid to take up space, even when I was hurting, even when I needed comfort or joy or rest.
The kind of love I want now—the kind I deserve—isn’t about fitting into someone else’s idea of acceptable. It’s about being able to laugh loudly, cry when I need to, ask for what I want, and live in a body that is mine without apology.
I don’t need to shrink to be worthy of affection. I don’t need to lose weight or dim my spirit to be deserving of partnership or friendship. I need to live as I am. With the body I have. With the fire I carry. With the softness I hold. With the truth I’ve earned through every struggle.
Love that’s real doesn’t demand silence, obedience, or erasure. It meets you where you are, and says, “Stay. Just like this.” That’s the kind of love I offer myself now. That’s the kind I’ll wait for.