In some cultures, being small, staying small, staying quiet, and shrinking yourself for others is considered humility, politeness, and good discipline. And I don’t doubt that in many situations, we do need to respect others and shared public space, like not talking loudly in theaters, being mindful in public settings, and understanding that we don’t exist alone in the world.

But there’s a difference between consideration and disappearance.

Coming from an Asian family, I was taught early on that shrinking myself for other people’s comfort was not just polite, it was expected. It was how you show respect. It was how you keep harmony. It was how you avoid being “too much.”

And over time, that kind of teaching doesn’t just stay in behavior. It sinks deeper. It becomes subconscious. It becomes identity.

Without realizing it, I began to move through life like I was made of something fragile. I walked like a feather might disturb the air. I spoke so softly that people often had to lean in to hear me. I tiptoed around my own home so that no one downstairs would be bothered. I placed my mug on the table gently, as if even the smallest sound might disrupt someone else’s peace. I watched TV at single-digit volume in my own home during the daytime.

This was just how I lived. Not because anyone was actively telling me to, but because somewhere inside me, I had learned that my presence should take up as little space as possible.

But then a question started to quietly form underneath everything:

What about me?

Because while I was learning how to be small, another part of my life was unfolding in a very different direction.

When I worked in the music and entertainment industry as a musician and indie artist, I was always the “almost” girl.

I almost signed with major U.S. record labels multiple times. I was almost cast as one of the main characters in a Fox TV series. My music campaign was almost backed by several major angel investors. Songs I collaborated on with Grammy Award-winning producers were almost placed in blockbuster films like Fast & Furious.

The list goes on.

I was always on the edge of something big. Always close enough to touch it, but never quite stepping into it.

And over time, that pattern started to shape a belief: maybe I was meant to stay in “almost.” Maybe I was the kind of person who gets close to success, but never fully arrives.

There was always a reason.

A sudden budget cut. Investors pulling out. Unexpected changes in the political or economic climate.

Things would fall apart at the last minute, often for reasons beyond my control, leaving me once again standing on the outside looking in.

For a long time, I internalized it as proof that something about me didn’t quite land. That I wasn’t meant to fully be seen.

Years later, after becoming an energy healer and exploring regression work, I began looking at those experiences through a different lens. And I started to wonder something uncomfortable during my shadow work:

What if some of those blockages weren’t just external?

What if, on some level, I didn’t feel fully safe to be seen?

When you’ve spent your entire life hiding, learning that being small equals being good, and that being quiet equals being respectful, visibility can start to feel unsafe. Being heard can feel like danger. Taking up space can feel like disruption.

Even if you consciously want success, there may be a deeper part of you that resists it, not because you’re incapable, but because you’ve been conditioned to associate visibility with discomfort.

And that realization changed something in me.

Because if part of me had learned to shrink for survival, then part of me might also have been unconsciously stepping back from the very things I said I wanted.

Not because I wasn’t ready.

But because I didn’t feel allowed.

So I’ve started asking a different question now:

What if I am allowed to take up space?

What if I am allowed to be heard without apologizing for it?

What if I am allowed to be a little “too much” sometimes?

What if I am allowed to be seen, not just in potential, not just in almost, but fully?

Even in my own home, I am allowed to exist without shrinking. I am allowed to walk normally. I am allowed to make sounds. I am allowed to live without constantly monitoring whether I am disturbing someone else’s comfort.

And slowly, I am learning that visibility is not something I have to earn by becoming smaller first.

It is something I was never meant to lose in the first place.

There is a spiritual practice called EFT tapping that I’ve also been doing for myself and my clients, something that helps release emotional blocks stored in the body by gently tapping on meridian points while speaking through beliefs and feelings. It’s been one of the tools helping me unlearn the idea that shrinking myself is the same as being good.

Because I’m starting to understand something important:

Taking up space is not the same as being disrespectful.

Being seen is not the same as being unsafe.

And I don’t have to live my life as the “almost” version of myself anymore.

And maybe the life I’ve been quietly preparing for is not the “almost” one, but the one where I finally allow myself to arrive.

Kari Light ❤

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