“My darling girl, when are you going to realize that being normal is not necessarily a virtue? It rather denotes a lack of courage.”
– Aunt Frances
Alice Hoffman, Practical Magic
There’s a kind of magic in being unlabelled but not invisible. I think that’s what I’m learning to be. Less a box to check, more a presence you feel. Like the way the air shifts before a storm or the hush that falls over the world at the first blush of dusk. You don’t always notice it right away, but you feel it. Something inside leans in.
When I was twelve, I used to daydream about being someone else. Not a completely different person, just a braver version of myself. Someone who could wear what she wanted without shrinking under the weight of someone else’s raised eyebrow. Someone who didn’t rehearse her lines before speaking or double-check her tone to make sure it sounded “nice enough.” Someone who didn’t flinch at her own reflection.
Someone who took up space like it was allowed.
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When You Were Young
What would the 12-year-old version of you be delighted to see about who you are today?
Write a letter to her—or them—or him. Not a long one. Just a few lines about what you’ve survived and how you’re still becoming. Bonus: sign it with the name you secretly wanted to go by at that age.
I’m still learning how not to shrink. Still reminding my shoulders they don’t have to fold inward. Still practicing holding eye contact when part of me wants to disappear. Still teaching my body that softness is not the opposite of strength. It’s just another kind.
Sometimes the most radical thing I can do is dress like the person I dreamed of being when I was twelve and terrified. To wear the sweater that looks like it belongs in a fairy tale, or the boots that make me feel like I could run straight into a forest and belong there. To braid my hair like I used to when pretending to be someone else, only now I’m becoming someone real. Someone rooted. Someone mine.
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It’s a quiet kind of rebellion, building a self that fits me instead of squeezing into something that fits the world’s expectations. There’s a strange power in it. Putting on clothes that feel like a home I built with my own hands, not one I was told to live in. It doesn’t matter if anyone else gets it. That younger version of me does. And she smiles every time.
I don’t always know how to label myself. The words don’t stay put. They slip and shimmer like moonlight on a pond; true, but never still. Depending on the day, the light, the part of me I’m listening to… the shape of me changes. And that used to scare me.
But lately, I’ve been thinking about how sunsets don’t stay sunsets for long, and the moon never apologizes for changing. Both are beautiful precisely because they shift. Because they show up as they are, however they are. We never doubt the moon’s worth just because it’s not full. We don’t question the sunset’s beauty just because it fades.
I like to imagine that every shift, every change in myself, is like looking at clouds, or moonlight, from both sides. A chance to see the beauty in every phase: the bright, the shadowed, the fleeting. And still, somehow, it’s entirely enough.
🕯️Lightweight 100% Cotton Waffle Blanket
ACT Metaphor: Moon Phases & The Self
In ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy), we often return to the idea that our thoughts, feelings, and identities aren’t fixed. They move, like clouds or tides. Or in this case, the moon.
You are always you, even when only a sliver of you is visible.
You don’t need to be “full” to be worthy of light.
You don’t need to be “easily described” to be real.
🌿 Practice: A Moon Ritual for Shifting Selves
Sit quietly with a candle, journal, or cup of tea.
Ask yourself: What phase of self am I in today?
- Waxing: growing into something new
- Full: shining brightly, seen
- Waning: softening, releasing
- New: resting, becoming again
Name what you need in this phase. Offer it to yourself if you can, even in a small way.
So maybe I don’t have to define myself to be real. Maybe being seen doesn’t require me to be easily categorized. Maybe I am allowed to be in progress. A becoming. A shifting, glowing, disappearing-and-returning kind of self.
Some days I still feel like I’m hiding. Like the part of me that’s most tender is tucked too far beneath layers of survival. But on the days I don’t, on the days I feel brave enough to show up soft, I carry that softness like a lantern. It’s not bright. But it flickers. And maybe someone else will see it and feel a little more okay, too.
That would be enough.
Journal Prompts
- What does “taking up space” mean for you right now?
- What’s something you used to dream of doing or wearing? What’s one small way you can honor that dream this week?
- If you were a moon phase today, which would you be, and what would that version of you need most?
From Kit’s Comfort Drawer
Using these affiliate links helps me keep the Stillroom cozy and supports small shops whenever possible.
- Pretty Garden Soft Oversized Chunky Cable Knit Cardigan – New emotional support sweater anyone?
- Mystic Moon Journal – For recording those wandering thoughts.
- Lightweight 100% Cotton Waffle Blanket – Oversized fuzzy blanket, perfect for wrapping around your shoulders and tucking under your chin.
- Sweet Water Decor Lavender and Sage Scented Soy Candle – Smells like grounding + quiet confidence.
Until next time—
xx,
Kit 🌼
