🌿 The Unexpected Joys of Taking Up Space And Being Yourself
The world needs your oranges.
🌿 Hello, lovely! I’m Nospheratt and this is Joy Every Week - a weekly quest to find joy in everyday things. Enjoy! :) 🌿
It’s weird this thing, this “taking space” thing.
I’ve been trying it lately, little by little.
Where I usually shrink, hide, go silent — I’m trying to find a way of being present, being myself, having a voice.
Not being aggressive; not hurting or disregarding people.
But saying: this is me, this is what I believe, this is what I think. This is what matters to me.
Whispering to myself: I matter, too.
Also: I am enough. Who I am is enough.
I learned very early about conflict. Violence.
The consequences of having opinions.
The punishment for speaking.
That fear still lives in me. Still inhabits my bones, curled in my chest, under my ribs.
It’s ingrained in me that it’s easier — safer — to say nothing. Go along.
Do what you are told.
Don’t look up.
Be silent.
And still, still.
I am nothing if not myself.
It’s kind of a miracle, really, how I’ve been broken so much and so deeply, irreparably so — and still managed to make something like a soul, and a heart, out of the jagged edges and shattered pieces of what I once was.
Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but that’s what I am. A pile of bones, a collection of scars, a bag of old stories and ancient wounds. A rag doll that dreams of a soul with no leak at the seams.1
A haunted ghost that lost everything but hope, and an unending wonder.
I guess getting to the other side of hell was my unfinished business, and that’s why I’m still here.
A long, long time ago, I read this story about a monk and his oranges. It’s based on a medieval poem.
(Let me preface this by saying that I’m not about to discuss religion — please indulge me as I get to the story.)
In the version I know, the Virgin Mary comes down to the Earth and visits a monastery, little Baby Jesus in her arms. The monks create the most amazing works to honor them: beautifully illustrated manuscripts, lovely hymns, gorgeous poems...
But there is one monk who has only one talent: juggling.
He is ashamed, but he doesn’t know how to do anything else, and he really wants to give something of himself to the Virgin Mary. So when it’s his turn — even as he feels the disdainful looks of his brothers upon him — he steps up, a few oranges in his hands, and starts juggling.
It was only at this moment that the Baby Jesus smiled, and clapped his hands in Our Lady's lap. And it was to him that the Virgin stretched out her arms, allowing him to hold the child for a while.
I always, always cry when I get to the end of this story.
All my life, I’ve walked around with these oranges, these humble things that nobody wants.
(Or so I thought.)
I love this story because it told me: what you do, it matters. Someday you will find grace. You will meet someone who will appreciate your gifts, small as they may be.
It will mean something to them, too.
And I did.
Some days it doesn’t feel like it. Feels like I am alone, like people don’t care about me or for me.
Some days I am standing there, with my poor oranges, trembling under the disapproving gaze of my so called brethren.
And there is no grace to be had.
Every time I offer my oranges — speaking up, writing, publishing, sharing stories, being vulnerable, opening my heart, showing that I have so much love to give — I want to shrink, and hide, and be silent, because I remember those many times when there was no grace to be had.
When there was only disdain, punishment, and pain, and new scars.
I am trying to remember the times when there was grace, too.
When someone smiled and looked upon me with joy. When there were hugs, and hands clasped warm and supportive around my trembling fingers. When I was crying, and people gave me space and understanding.
When someone let me borrow their voice, because I had lost mine.
When strangers offered kindness, warmth, belonging.
When there was shared laughter and delight.
When I offered my gifts and received gifts in return.
When someone said I feel this, too.
Or, I needed this.
Offering my humble gifts, juggling my oranges, is taking up space.
Being myself.
And it’s hard, so hard.
So I practice.
I try to remember.
I fail, and I try again.
Sometimes, many times, there is grace to be found.
Sometimes, there is not.
But always, always: I am enough.
🌿 This Week’s Quest - The Joy Of Taking Up Space
Ideas & inspiration to find your joy.
1 - To think about…
This week, I’m just going to invite you to think about your gifts, and how you take space.
Do you take up the space that belongs to you?
Do you shrink or hide from it?
What are your oranges? The gifts or talents you want to share with the world?
Can you remember moments when there was grace to be had? When you offered something, when you stepped up and was met with kindness, joy, acceptance?
How can you take space joyfully?
🌳 Quote
🌿 That’s It For Today!
I know taking up space, sharing your gifts and offering your oranges is not an easy thing to do. It’s scary, and we are not always met with joy and grace.
I hope you do it anyway.
Because it matters. You matter.
The world needs your oranges. 🍊
Until next time. —Nospheratt 💚🌿
Mercy Street — Peter Gabriel - one of my favorite songs.