Unshrinking: The Practice of Taking Up Space

I want to share an excerpt from a poem by Rezah Sampson, Coloured by Tongue, Queer by Heart:

So you shrink
Make yourself small enough to fit in their boxes,
but never comfortable,
never free.
You laugh when they make jokes about your kind,
nod when they talk about how it’s just a phase,
keep quiet at a mosque,
feeling the heat of their eyes burning into you,
judging every movement,
waiting for you to slip,
because somehow, you’re always too visible,
even in the silence of prayer.

When I read this, I thought about how much of my life I’ve spent making myself smaller—sometimes because I was told to, sometimes because it felt safer, and sometimes because I didn’t know another way.

I think about being a kid, put on ADHD medication because my parents "couldn't think of anything else that could be done." About getting fired from a job for not being a “follower” and being too outspoken. About running an LGBTQ+ nonprofit and being forced to “give credit” to straight, cis people for projects I was running for LGBTQ+ folks because if I didn't, I "might ruin this progress for everybody else." About moving through women’s spaces now as a transwoman, sometimes feeling like I have to shrink myself so I don’t “out” myself. About my current job, where I hold back my thoughts so I don’t shake things up too much.

And then, one day, I started unshrinking.

But one day, you decide.
Klaar nou.
You've had enough of wearing skins that don't fit,
of bending under the weight of their judgment,
so you choose your peace.
You step out,
even if your knees shake,
even if your voice trembles.
You find that peace is a quiet place,
away from the noise,
where you can finally exhale.

For me, I could finally exhale the day I met my husband—someone who loved me unconditionally for the first time in my life. Someone who didn’t just see my body, my queerness, my transness—he saw me. And he loved me, even when I couldn’t love myself.

Taking up space is still something I have to practice. It’s not easy. It means unraveling years—decades—of being told to be smaller. It means learning, over and over again, that I am allowed to be here. That I belong in every space I enter. That I don’t have to justify my existence.

That’s what this week’s Queer Flow is about.

You Are Allowed to Take Up Space.

Come exactly as you are. Move if you want to move. Sit still if that’s what you need. Lay down and TAKE UP SPACE if that’s all you have the energy for. At the very least, you’ll be in a room full of people who see you, love you, and want you here.

I hope to see you on the mat. I hope you take up all the space you need.