The Moon doesn’t need consent to Shine: Neither Do I

I've always been drawn to the moon for some reason.

When only half of the moon is illuminated, no one questions it. No one expects it to be brighter, fuller, or more pleasing to the eye. No matter where it is, we love and accept it.

I wish I had known when I was younger that I could live like that.

Raised to Decline

I was handed silence like a family heirloom as a brown girl in a world that taught me to shrink.

I was taught to be accommodating. To cross my legs, lower my voice, and never make anyone uncomfortable, particularly men or white people. Early on, I discovered that rebellion was not only discouraged but also dangerous. That if had I questioned the rules, I might be called "difficult," "aggressive," or, as the saying goes, "too much."

I also listened for a long time.

In the hope that I would finally be noticed if I just fit the mould, I folded myself into smaller and smaller versions. Noticed. Loved. I bit my tongue as I styled my hair. I laughed when they said my name wrong. They Smiled as made fun of "spicy food" and "strict brown parents" as jokes. They commented that I was attractive "for a brown girl." I thanked them.

A Gentle Rebellion

However, not all rebellions begin with fireworks. It may begin with a whisper at times.

After years of heat damage and flat ironing, the first time I wore my natural curls in public, I remember. Although the world did not end, something changed inside of me. People stared at me. Some inquired as to whether I was "trying something new." One even said, "I liked it better straight. It's cute."

I still put it on again.

In the margins of my notebooks, I started writing poetry with words that burned, questioned, and didn't ask for permission to exist. I began to say "no" more frequently. When someone slandered my name, I began to correct them.

The moon never expressed regret about its shape. Why ought I to?

Getting Rid of Obedience

For me, freedom was more than just speaking up. It was about getting rid of obedience.

I needed to get rid of the layers of myself that had been put together by other people's expectations. It hurt a lot. It meant demeaning the people I cared about. Being misinterpreted was the result. It meant dealing with my own feelings of grief, shame, and rage, which I was told not to feel or even talk about.

The moon, on the other hand, does not wait for the approval of the entire world before shining. It simply is.

I began to follow suit.

Getting My Light Back

Now, I wear —bold and loud— red lipstick not for attention but for reclamation.

My writing focuses on brown girls like me who despise neatness. I am surrounded by people who not only tolerate but also celebrate my fire. I establish limits. I stand up. When I need to, I cry. If I want to, I dance.

Additionally, I no longer apologize for how well I shine.

I still seem to some to be too much. I still doubt myself on occasion. However, no one ever doubts the value of the moon's shadows.

To the Women Who Are Still Shrinking

I understand —you if you are reading this and are still figuring out how to be big in a world that wants you to be small.

Perhaps you have not yet spoken up. It's possible that you're still teasing out your curls and laughing at jokes that make you feel out of place. It's possible that your rebellion is still taking root.

That's fine.

Nobody is owed your flawless glow. You don't have to always feel full. Come as you are. Some days you’ll be a sliver. You'll be a fireball some days.

Both have merit. Both are effective.

A Final Thought

I wish the moon had taught me sooner that just being present is enough. That being just me, in all of my stages, is a radical act. Especially when the world keeping trying to dim me.

Therefore, I no longer seek permission to shine.

I simply do.

I exist without reservation, just like the moon —whether you're looking or not.