Refusing to Shrink

On trail, I sometimes stop because something small catches my eye.

Moss on a rock, lichen spreading across bark, a patch of green. Things I'd have walked past without noticing. Looking closer and an entire little universe opens up.

Things at a distance aren't always what they seem. And neither are people.

Living with chronic illness can mean hiding or shrinking parts of yourself. The parts you think are "too much" for others. Not wanting to be a complainer or a burden by making anyone deal with it.

After enough time, this becomes another form of self-abandonment, often in the moments when you need yourself the most.

It's not just about what you say. It's refusing to perform a sanitized version of yourself. For decades, I curated my presentation to avoid discomfort, both mine and others'. I shared the acceptable struggles, hid the messy realities, and performed competence even while coming completely undone.

Chronic illness strips away much of that performance capacity.

When you're managing unabated daily pain for the better part of a decade, there's not a lot of energy left for emotional editing. You start showing up more honestly, not necessarily because you've figured something out, but because maintaining the facade becomes harder and harder.

For me, it meant finally letting the seams show. The truth about my childhood. The abuse, the violence, the trauma that shaped how I moved through the world.

Not because trauma defines me, but because hiding it was defining me. At some point sovereignty becomes refusing to let shame self-edit.

I'm not talking about oversharing or making others responsible for your healing. It's more about refusing to disappear parts of yourself because they're uncomfortable, inconvenient, or difficult for someone else to see.

Owning your story doesn't mean being owned by it. It means making room for all of it, the parts that struggle, as well as the ones that thrive. Parts that may not be comfortable for others to see, but are still yours.

Not having to explain every part of yourself, but also not having to apologize for the space you take up.

Maybe refusing to shrink is choosing authenticity over approval.

And letting the whole story exist.

Some things are easier to see when you stop asking them to be smaller.

→ Share this with someone who's been curating themselves down to a size other people find comfortable.

Connective Tissue:

→ And It Stoned Me
→ Survival Settings

Trail Crossings & Waypoints:

→ What Regulation Made Possible
→ The Urban Pivot

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* peer reflections: not medical or therapy advice. *