Being Me with You!

I Desire to Be Me—with You

Yesterday, at lunch, we were talking about a moment that landed deep in my body—when Carmen moved her chair away from the group (to give you a little more of the scene, it was a Q&A group of five people, she was on stage in front of 150+ people). She didn’t say much. She didn’t make a scene. She simply took the space she needed.

And something in me softened when she did.

It was such a big moment for me because I’m still learning how to do that for myself. Still learning that I’m allowed to take space. Still reminding myself that needing space doesn’t mean I’m doing anything wrong.

I said out loud at the table that I was going to share something I had written. Something I’ve been sitting with for days. But the truth is, I haven’t shared it because I’ve been afraid—afraid of what people might think… or maybe more afraid that no one will respond at all.

Facebook might still feel too big for this part of me. But this space? This feels safe.

I’m an Only Child—and I’m Learning to Own That

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on what it means to be an only child, and how it’s shaped the way I relate to others, to space, to silence, and to myself.

So many conversations about only children focus on loneliness. And while that can be true at times, what feels more true for me is that being an only child has been a blessing. I didn’t grow up with a big, noisy house full of people—but I had the animals, the trees, the rivers. I had stillness. I had quiet. And I had space to find myself.

Now, as an adult, I still crave that space. But I’ve carried so much guilt around it—sometimes from others, often from myself.

The “All or Nothing” Feeling in Groups

Being in a group can feel like I have to be all in or not there at all. Like there’s no space to just exist quietly on the edge. No space to observe, to feel, to take it all in at my own pace.

The story I tell myself is that people get uncomfortable when I’m just a little more than arm’s length away—when I need to step back and breathe as the energy gets big. And when I do step back, I sometimes feel a weakness in my body. A self-judgment rises:
Why can’t I handle this?
Why do I always need space?
Why does the “big” affect me so deeply?

But the deeper truth is this: I don’t feel alone when I’m by myself. I feel alone when I’m with others who don’t understand how I move.

I Long for a Different Kind of Togetherness

My body doesn’t want to perform. It doesn’t want to keep up with the constant movement and noise. It longs to stand with people in silence—to not have to move, not have to do, not have to be big like the others. I just want to be there, quietly, sensing the movement of community around me.

I want to learn how to be in community with people—but not in the way I learned growing up. Not with the coping skills that taught me to shrink or shape-shift. I want to learn a new way:

To stand at the edge and let the buzz and hum and fire of others swirl around me until I feel ready to step in.
To not be pulled, but invited.
To not be forced, but felt.
To be able to say:
“I’m here. And I’m me. And that’s enough.”

I Desire to Be Me—with You

That’s what this journey is really about for me.

Not hiding.
Not performing.
Not pushing myself into places that feel too tight or too loud.

But being seen as I am—an only child who loves people, who craves connection, and who also needs space. Someone who feels things deeply, stands quietly on the edge, and wants to be part of the circle without being consumed by it.

I don’t need the story to be small or the group to quiet down. I just need room to breathe. I just want to be me—with you.