Crow and Flame

Lately I’ve been feeling like I’m too much.

Too hard to love.

Too passionate.

Too caring.

Too artsy.

Too pushy.

Too everything.

Like my light is blinding and it hurts your eyes.

And when you live long enough carrying fire, you start to wonder if maybe you’re the problem.

Maybe you should dim it.

Cup your hands around it.

Turn it down to a manageable glow.

I have done that.

I have edited myself mid-sentence.

Swallowed truth to keep the peace.

Smiled when I wanted to confront.

Given when I was already empty.

I folded my wings neatly behind my back so they wouldn’t brush up against anyone else’s fragility.

I shrank my voice so it wouldn’t echo too loudly in rooms built on comfort and avoidance.

I made myself smaller to fit inside someone else’s version of “easy.”

But here is what I am remembering:

The crow does not apologize for its call.

The flame does not apologize for its heat.

They simply are.

And fire is not too much for those who are not afraid of warmth.

What I am beginning to understand is this—

Being “too much” was never the real issue.

The issue was access.

I gave everyone front-row seats to my intensity.

Unlimited entry to my time.

Open-door policies to my energy.

Emotional labor without invoice.

Compassion without discernment.

I burned for people who only wanted light—

not responsibility.

not reciprocity.

not depth.

And when they got uncomfortable,

it was easier to call me too much

than to admit they were unwilling to grow.

So now, the fire stays.

But the boundaries rise.

My light is not a public utility.

It is a sacred resource.

You do not get my constant availability just because I am capable.

You do not get my softness if you mishandle it.

You do not get my passion if you mock it.

You do not get access to my inner world if you only show up for the performance.

I can be loving and still say no.

I can be compassionate and still walk away.

I can be powerful and still protect my peace.

Boundaries are not walls built from bitterness.

They are gates built from wisdom.

They say:

I will not shrink to make you comfortable.

I will not dilute my voice to avoid your insecurity.

I will not overextend myself to prove my worth.

I will not set myself on fire to keep you warm.

If my intensity feels like pressure,

ask yourself why.

If my clarity feels like confrontation,

ask yourself what it’s exposing.

If my passion feels overwhelming,

consider that maybe you’ve grown used to lukewarm living.

The world doesn’t need more women bending into acceptable shapes.

It needs women who understand their voltage.

Who know when to pour and when to pause.

Who recognize that softness without structure becomes self-betrayal.

I am not too much.

I am whole.

I am awake.

I am unwilling to live half-lit.

Some will always prefer the quiet glow of a nightlight to the wild blaze of a bonfire. That’s okay.

But I am no longer negotiating my brightness to soothe someone else’s fear of heat.

If my light is too bright for you, you are free to look away.

I am done apologizing for shining.

And I am done offering my flame without reverence.