How to take up space when you’ve been taught to shrink

Because your voice, your needs, and your presence matter.

I used to think being a "good person" meant making myself small.

Letting others speak first. Staying quiet even when I had something to say. Thinking about what everyone else needed before I even paused to ask myself, What do I want?

For me, it came from a place of cultural pride and protection—I was raised to be respectful, humble, and kind; "don't rock the boat," they say, "never rock the boat." But somewhere along the way, those values twisted into habits that left me voiceless in rooms I belonged in. I didn’t even notice how often I disappeared…until the silence started getting too loud.

That's when I knew something had to change.

That’s when I began unlearning the habit of shrinking.

Understanding the habit of shrinking

If you’ve ever caught yourself downplaying your thoughts or tiptoeing around your own needs, you’re not alone. Shrinking is something many of us do, especially if we were taught to avoid conflict, make others comfortable, or believe our worth was tied to being agreeable.

So, where does this come from?

There are so many possible roots, and I’d never claim to speak for everyone. But for me, it mostly traces back to two places:

1. Cultural and familial conditioning

In my upbringing, harmony was everything. I grew up hearing things like “Be polite,” “Don’t rock the boat,” or “Stay humble”, phrases that are deeply ingrained in our culture. Don't get me wrong, they come from a good place. They’re meant to teach kindness, grace, and respect for others. But when overapplied, those values begin to chip away at my confidence and my sense of self.

2. The Fawn response

Later, through therapy and a whole lot of healing work, I came across the term “Fawn response”. It's a lesser-known trauma response where, instead of fighting or fleeing, we survive by appeasing. You stay agreeable, keep others happy, and make yourself less of a “burden”—because somewhere along the way, that felt safer than being fully seen.

For me, it showed up as: “Sorry, I just had a quick thought…” “This might sound dumb, but…” Or saying, “I don’t mind,” even when I definitely did.

It wasn’t just about being nice—it was about making myself small enough to avoid judgment, rejection, or conflict. And for a while, that felt like safety. But the truth is, constantly abandoning your own needs to maintain the comfort of others isn’t safety—it’s a slow kind of self-erasure.

The deafening ways I silenced myself

For the longest time, I didn’t realize how loud my silence had become...until I started paying attention.

• Starting sentences with disclaimers like: “This might sound dumb, but…”

• Apologizing just for existing: “Sorry, I just had a thought…”

• Saying yes when I meant no.

• Feeling guilty when I took up time, space, and attention.

• Letting people interrupt and talk over me.

And it wasn’t just at work.

It was in friendships where I gave more than I received. In relationships where I made myself agreeable so I wouldn’t be “too much.” In casual conversations, I’d laugh off microaggressions or things that just didn't sit right with me, just to keep the peace.

At first, it might not seem like a big deal. But that kind of shrinking comes at a cost.

Why does shrinking hurt us?

..and over time, the cost adds up.

• My mental health took a hit when my emotions had nowhere to go.

• My career stalled because I wasn't visible enough to grow.

• My relationships became lopsided, where I gave more than I got.

• My creativity and joy dulled because I stopped believing my ideas mattered.

Shrinking wasn’t keeping me safe. It was keeping me stuck.

How I started taking up more space

It didn’t happen overnight. There was no lightning bolt, no dramatic epiphany. Instead, I started questioning the inner voice that told me to stay quiet.

Small steps to take up space

If you’re just starting, it doesn’t mean flipping a switch or overhauling your personality. For me, it began with tiny, intentional shifts:

• Speak first in a meeting. I tried this once when I felt the energy in the room was tense and everyone was waiting for someone else to go first. Even if I wasn’t totally confident in how I worded things, I gave myself permission to take up that space. Some days, my voice still trembled. But I did it anyway. And each time, it got easier.

• Slow down when you talk. Take your time. I used to rush through my words, like I had to finish before someone interrupted. Now I breathe, pause, let the silence do some of the work. It changes everything.

• Say no without padding it with ten reasons. The first time I said “I can’t do that” without immediately justifying it, I was sweating. But nothing exploded. No one got mad. They just said, “Okay.” Turns out, most of the drama was in my head.

• Ask for what you need. A break, support, time—claim it. I once asked for a deadline extension and immediately braced for disapproval. Instead, I got a “Thanks for letting us know early.” Simple. Respectful.

  
  

These changes weren’t big. But they were powerful.

Long-term habits that help

With time, I started tuning into my body. I started noticing how I physically shrank when I felt unsure—shoulders curled in, voice softer than usual, eyes scanning for an escape. That awareness helped me start practicing mindfulness. I’d pause and check in: What am I afraid of here? Most of the time, the answer was the same—that I was being “too much,” taking up too much attention, or asking for too much space. But I began countering that thought with something softer and truer: I’m allowed to take up space. I’m not too much. I’m just whole.

Another shift was learning to reframe the spiral of self-doubt that often followed when I spoke up. Even when I was brave enough to share an idea in a meeting or voice a boundary in a relationship, I’d spend hours afterward spiralling: Was that annoying? Did I say too much? Did I come off wrong? Eventually, I started changing the question. Now I ask myself, Did I speak with intention? Was I honest? Did I show up as myself? If the answer is yes, then I did the right thing—even if it felt scary.

To help myself track this growth, I started keeping what I call a “daily wins journal.” Nothing fancy—just a small note in my phone. Some wins are small: I corrected someone when they mispronounced my name. I didn’t over-apologize in an email. Others feel bigger: I offered an idea in a team meeting. I advocated for myself. Seeing those small acts written down helped build proof. I wasn’t imagining my growth—it was happening, even if it felt slow.

And when the old habits creep in—when I feel the urge to retreat or doubt my voice—I lean on the people who remind me of who I am. The friends who check in. My partner, who always hypes me up. My family, who believes in me. Surrounding myself with those voices has been just as important as quieting the critical ones in my own head.

You were never meant to be small

This work isn’t just personal—it’s collective.

It’s for every woman who was told that putting herself first was selfish. That being “too much” made her less lovable. That asking for what she wanted made her bossy, emotional, or difficult.

Taking up space isn’t about being loud. It’s about being whole.

And if anyone ever made you feel like your presence was too big, they were never ready for the power you hold.

You were never meant to be a footnote. You’re the whole damn story.