Yet, I noticed my own behavior. Every few minutes, I straightened my dress, apologized whenever the children spoke up too loudly, or stepped in to tidy things that didn’t need tidying. I was constantly trying to minimize my presence.
When everyone gathered for the annual family photograph, Elaine pointed toward a chair near the center of the patio. “Maggie, come sit here.”
Instinctively, I took a step back. “Oh, no, let someone else take the center seat.”
Daniel looked at me, then at the chair. He pulled it out gently. “Why set yourself aside when you were invited to take a seat?”
I stopped, realizing I didn’t have a reasoned answer.
He continued softly, keeping his voice private. “You’ve apologized for three different things today—the kids’ excitement, your outfit, and taking up space in conversations. You don’t need to apologize for being here.”
His observation landed with quiet clarity. Somewhere along the way, I had adopted the habit of making myself smaller to avoid conflict or awkwardness.
When the photographer called everyone together, I stepped forward and took the seat in the center. My dress was slightly rumpled from the afternoon, my hair was tossed by the summer breeze, and my children were laughing beside me.
For the first time in years, I stopped worrying about how I looked to everyone else.
