Move On If You Can’t Take the Fullness of Who I Am

For everyone who has ever made themselves smaller to be more acceptable

(To listen to the recorded version of this post, click here.)

There’s a moment, often quiet, almost unremarkable, when you realize you’ve been editing yourself. Not in the bold, rewrite-your-story kind of way. But in the subtle, soul-shrinking way.

You’re in a room, a relationship, a role… and you start asking questions like:

“Is this too much?” “Will they still like me if I say that?” “Should I soften this?” “Is it okay to be this passionate / opinionated / emotional / ambitious?”

And before you know it, you’re handing out diluted versions of yourself like samples at a grocery store. Hoping someone will say, "Yes, I’ll take the real thing." But also fearing what will happen if they actually do.

I know that dance.

The contorting. The melding and molding. The constant calibration of your volume, intensity, and truth.

And I also know this:

There comes a day when the cost of shrinking to fit in becomes greater than the risk of standing tall. When staying silent feels heavier than speaking up. When the fear of being “too much” is finally outweighed by the pain of being not enough for yourself.

That’s when things start to shift. Not because you’re suddenly braver, but because you’re finally done abandoning yourself.

For me, it wasn’t one moment. It was the build-up of a hundred little ones. The times I held back. Smiled instead of speaking up. Said "yes" when I meant "no." Eventually, I realized I wasn’t just dimming, I was disappearing. And I was done with that.

So, I wrote something. For myself, but also for anyone who’s ever turned down their light just to fit someone else’s dimmed room.

This is for you.

MANIFESTO: Move On If You Can’t Take the Fullness of Who I Am

by Pam, for Pam, in honor of every bold, beautiful, becoming version of you

I’m not here to be palatable.

I’m not here to make you comfortable.

I’m not here to ask, “Is this too much?” before I open my mouth.

I’m done dimming. Done diluting.

Done pretending that softness means silence or that being kind means being small.

If you can’t take who I am, in my depth, in my fire, in my full-hearted aliveness, then you’re not meant to sit at this table.

I’m not a whisper.

I’m not a maybe.

I’m not a second thought.

I am a woman who has lived, lost, loved, and risen.

I am rooted. Wild. Tender. Whole.

And I am no longer in the business of shrinking to fit your level of readiness.

So, if you can’t take my joy and my grief,

my questions and my confidence,

my laughter and my longing,

then bless and release, baby.

Because I’m done explaining my existence to people who don’t have the range.

This is my season of real.

Of soul-deep connection,

Of unedited creation,

Of fierce, unshakable self-respect.

I will create boldly.

Love deeply.

Speak truthfully.

And surround myself only with those who can take me fully,

not in pieces, not in performance, but in presence.

So, here’s the deal.

You don’t have to like it.

You don’t even have to understand it.

But you will respect it.

Because I’m not going back.

And I’m not playing small to fit in places where I'm not meant to anyway.

Not now. Not ever.

Move on if you can’t take the fullness of who I am.

I’m not for the faint-hearted.

I’m for the real ones.

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You don’t need to write a manifesto to reclaim your voice.

You just need to notice where you’ve been shrinking.

And then take one step, even the tiniest one, in the direction of your fullness.

Not everyone will get it.

Not everyone is supposed to.

But the people who are meant for you?

They won’t just accept the fullness of who you are.

They’ll recognize it. Because it’s in them, too.

If you’ve been playing small… let this be your permission slip. Or maybe just a reminder.

You are meant to take up space.

To speak with power.

To stop apologizing for being multi-faceted, multi-layered, and unapologetically real.

Let the ones who can’t handle the realness of you, move on.

Because you? You’ve got things to do.