I’ve been hanging out with some critical voices in my mind lately. You, too? I say ‘lately’ as if it’s not like all the time.

I’m not sure how you experience it, but shame tends to show up for me most often when I’m drawing any attention to myself at all. Because I am pretty extroverted, I often let it out anyway – shame immediately follows almost every time, like a left hook. 

People talk a lot these days about “taking up space”, but I often wonder what this ambiguous phrase means. To me, taking up space is not just being physically present in a room. It is allowing yourself to be seen. I think it is sharing your thoughts, telling a story, expressing your needs – letting other people know your joy, excitement, interests, and emotions. 

You can take up space by sharing what hurts you, too.

I also can’t even write about the idea of ‘space’ without picturing the meme of Cynthia and Ariana with 19-inch nails finding out that queer people were ‘holding space’ for Defying Gravity. Different kind of space obvi, but still important.

But truly, I fully acknowledge that sharing is vulnerable, whether it is sharing your joy or your pain. I think it takes a lot of courage to be seen, especially when we’re unsure of how another person may react. I don’t want to imply that we owe everyone access to all parts of us – timing and safety matter, and our bodies often know when to keep to ourselves.

There have been times that sharing has hurt us, or scarred us – or scarred others, who then told us to hold back out of their own fear. We’ve likely all experienced feeling small, being told to be quiet, or having our ideas dismissed.

When it is safe, shame might be holding us back. Even in one of the safest places, my therapist’s office, shame creeps in after a session. Opening up is literally what therapy is for – I know I could tell her anything. But, alas, that’s how deeply rooted it can become.

The good news: just one experience of being held, listened to, and supported can soften the pain of past experiences. I think over time this reminds us that we don’t have to make ourselves small. 

How do we benefit from connection if the shame of taking up space follows us afterward, turning the experience into something painful?

There’s a part of me that is grateful that you are choosing to read this, and that I am not taking up space in your life against your will or whatever. I’m starting to wonder, though, if I could allow myself to share this with you shamelessly. 

That’s a lot to ask, but I suppose it is the start of what may be a lifelong practice, just noticing the shame, maybe even offering some self-compassion if we can. Not fixing it, or immediately making sense of it. 

Maybe starting small. Opening up slowly. Allowing love to replace shame.

If you were looking for a quick fix or an answer for how to release the shame, I don’t know that I have one. But I do wonder: if someone cannot make room for the fuller parts of us, what does that say about the depth and quality of that relationship? The risk of finding out may be worth the possibility of a real and meaningful connection.