The Quiet Work of Taking Up Space

I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to take up space.

Not in a loud, dramatic way — but in the quiet, everyday way of simply existing in the world as I am, unapologetically.

And the truth is, I wasn’t taught how to do that.

I was taught the opposite.

In grade school, the girls’ dress code was explained to us like this:

we had to cover our shoulders, our legs, our bodies…

because boys might get distracted.

I learned that my clothing — even when it was appropriate, even when I felt good in it — was a problem.

I learned that boys’ reactions were my responsibility.

I learned that if someone else felt uncomfortable, I had to change.

And that message didn’t stay in childhood.

It followed me into adulthood.

I’m 29 years old, and I found myself standing on my own deck, in my own yard, feeling uncomfortable wearing a bikini because my male neighbor was outside.

Not because I was doing anything wrong.

Not because I was exposed.

But because somewhere deep in my nervous system, that old script was still running:

“Don’t make anyone uncomfortable.”

“Don’t be too visible.”

“Don’t take up too much space.”

But here’s what I know now:

Taking up space means existing in the world as I am — without shrinking, apologizing, or pre‑editing myself to protect someone else’s comfort.

It means wearing what feels good on my body.

It means letting myself be seen without assuming I’m doing something wrong.

It means remembering that other people’s discomfort is not my responsibility to manage.

I’m allowed to take up space.

You’re allowed to take up space.

We all are.

And every time I choose to stand in my own skin without shrinking — even in something as simple as wearing a bikini on my own deck — I’m rewriting a story that never should’ve been handed to me in the first place.

Taking up space isn’t rebellion.

It’s reclamation.