You Were Never Too Much You Were Just in the Wrong Rooms

Where the “too much” wound begins

If you have ever been told you are too much, you know the way it can live in your body. It does not usually arrive as one loud moment that makes you decide to shrink. More often, it begins as a series of small, almost invisible lessons. A raised eyebrow when you speak with passion. A subtle sigh when you share an idea that is different from the rest. A change in someone’s tone when you laugh too loudly or cry too openly. One by one, these moments teach you which parts of yourself are “safe” to bring out and which parts to hide.

You might feel it in the way people react to you, in the moments they look uncomfortable with your fullness, or in the times you have felt the need to apologize for simply being yourself. Maybe you were told you were too sensitive and should be stronger. Maybe your dreams or interests did not follow the traditional path and were met with doubt or dismissal. Maybe even your laugh was called too much, bright, full, and alive until one day you caught yourself holding it back, softening it, almost muting it so it would not stand out.

You may have been told you were too much for needing your own space, for feeling energy so deeply that you had to retreat and recover. Too much for believing in something with your whole heart, for choosing your own way instead of following the crowd. Perhaps you were taught to stand up for yourself, yet when you did, it was only acceptable if it did not upset the balance around you. Too much for the depth of your love, too much for the way you see the world.

One of my earliest memories of this was at three years old. I placed everyone on one side of a room and myself on the other, closing the door to have my own little world for a moment. I locked it and felt an innocent thrill in creating space just for me. The adults panicked and rushed to open it. That small moment revealed a dynamic that would repeat itself for years. My curiosity and independence often triggered the fears of others, and those fears became my guilt. Even now, when I want to explore, to follow my purpose, or to take space for myself, guilt can rise, especially when others do not understand.

Lessons like this are rarely taught by just one person. Family, society, teachers, friends, and the environments you move through can all play a part. Some moments are as direct as being told you are overreacting, being dramatic, or asking for too much. Others are quieter, like being left out of a conversation or having your excitement met with silence. Each moment leaves its mark, teaching your body to quiet itself, to disappear a little more, to be less seen. It can take years of growing into yourself and choosing self-love to undo that. And even then, when you are going through something hard, the instinct may still be to hide. You might wonder if sharing your struggles will make you seem dramatic, or as if you are making a bigger deal than you should. You may find yourself asking, am I being too much, or am I simply showing up as I truly am?

And when those questions live in you long enough, they do more than just sit quietly in your mind. They start shaping the way you move through the world, and before you know it, you are not just asking if you are too much. You are learning how to be less.

What happens when we shrink to fit

That question does not stay a quiet thought for long. It starts shaping the way you move through the world. You begin to measure your words, soften your voice, and calculate your presence. You learn to read the room before you even enter it, scanning for how much of yourself is safe to bring.

Maybe you know what that feels like. You catch yourself watching the faces around you, wondering if you should turn down your light just to keep the peace. You find yourself rehearsing what to say so it will land gently or holding back entirely because the risk of being misunderstood feels too high. You become a version of yourself that is easy to be around, even if it costs you the real you.

For me, it meant going quiet. It meant making myself easy to be around by smoothing over my edges. I changed how I spoke so it would not sound too direct. I let my opinions trail off so they would not create tension. I placed my wants and needs to the side and took on the emotions of others as if they were mine to carry. I became the one who kept the peace, even if it cost me pieces of myself. Over time I lost sight of where I ended and where other people began.

One of the first parts of myself I learned to hide was my creativity. I loved to sing, dance, and express myself through movement and words. Yet the opinions and disapproval of others made me silence that joy. Even writing, which now feels inseparable from who I am, took years for me to recognise as a gift. I had been so often doubted or dismissed that I questioned my ability before I even began. Many of my creative ideas were met with indifference, so I stored them away. By my teenage years, most of that expression was locked up inside me. After school, I began to open the door again, but with hesitation and heavy self-criticism.

It was not just my creativity. There were entire parts of my personality that I only let out around certain people. My humour, my depth, my playful side, my boldness, all of it came out in layers, depending on how safe I felt. Around others, I learned to shrink. In that space of holding back, it became easy for people to take advantage of my kindness.

My dreams and desires also became smaller. As a child, I pushed them down when they seemed too unrealistic or too big. When I tried to chase them, the fears and doubts of others would creep in and weaken my belief in myself. I was told to be logical and realistic, and I struggled to balance that with the part of me that longed for more. Over time, the voices around me grew louder than my own. I let them sway me, stall me, and even sabotage me. It is hard to carry faith in your dreams when the people you love most do not understand them, do not try to, and would prefer you chose something safer.

The way people treated me often depended on how much I was pleasing them. I was the one who could calm a room, the one who could hold the emotions of others without spilling my own. I was the reliable one, the one who could be trusted with someone’s deepest feelings, the one who could adapt and show up when needed. Yet that availability was not always met with appreciation or respect. Once, a friend even tried to prove to someone else that if she called me, I would come. I only saw the missed call the next day, but it stayed with me. It made me realize how much my presence had been taken for granted.

When I look back, I see that my people-pleasing was rooted in fear. Fear of losing the people I loved. Fear of being abandoned if I was too much. So, I kept giving, kept smoothing, kept showing up. And in doing that, I betrayed myself again and again. Maybe you know that feeling too. The moment you realize you have been showing up for everyone but yourself. The slow ache of recognizing that your voice has grown quieter, not because you have nothing to say, but because somewhere along the way you stopped believing it was safe to say it. When you live like that long enough, you start to forget what your own voice sounds like. And the world begins to forget too. But your voice matters. Your presence matters. The way you show up, the energy you bring, the fullness of who you are, all of it has the power to shift a room. Which is why the world does not just need a quieter, more acceptable version of you. The world needs your full expression.

Why the world needs your full expression

When you are fully expressed, you become both a mirror and a spark for the people around you. Your presence shifts the energy in a room. Your joy makes others feel safe to feel theirs. Your truth gives someone else permission to speak theirs. You do not just live your own life more fully; you change the lives of the people who meet you. You remind people of what is possible when someone dares to live as all of themselves.

Think about it. When you have been around someone who is unapologetically themselves, you can feel it in your body. Something softens. You breathe easier. Your own walls loosen a little. That is the power of full expression. It creates safety, permission, and possibility just by existing.

I know this because when I am fully expressed, something shifts in me and in those around me. There is a lightness, a quiet confidence, a peace that radiates outward. People can feel it. There is a spark, a burst of energy, a rush of joy that moves through me like I am alive for the first time all over again. My presence feels awake. I light up, and in that space I become a channel. Insights, messages, and guidance flow through me without effort, as naturally as breathing.

Because when I am in that state, I am not just living for myself. I have helped people believe in themselves and in their dreams. I have reflected their light back to them, reminded them of their worth, and helped them see the love and purity they carry inside. My fullness frees something in other people. It gives them permission to be more of themselves. And if my expression can do that, so can yours.

Yet, like many of us, there is still a part of me that has not fully stepped out. A part that stays reserved. A layer of fullness I am still working to claim. I can be authentic, but it is the most vulnerable parts, especially in front of a camera, that I hold back. When you are a healer or guide, there is a pressure to appear strong, to have it all together. And when you are going through a hard time yourself, it can feel impossible to open up about that and still be seen as someone capable of helping. You may know that feeling too, the pressure to hide the mess, the fear that your vulnerability will make people doubt you, the quiet thought that says maybe you should wait until you have it all figured out before you show yourself again.

Because of that, I sometimes silence my expression in those seasons. I step back from sharing, like when I took a step back from social media for a while. I did not know how to keep showing up authentically while moving through my own challenges. But the truth is, the world does not need our perfection. It needs our presence. It needs our honesty, our softness, our joy, our depth, the whole spectrum. The world needs us because our expression creates space for others to rise into theirs, and because the way we show up may be the very permission someone else has been waiting for. And when you know the power your presence holds, it becomes just as important to place yourself in the spaces that will honour it.

How to find your real room

The right room is not just a physical space. It is a place, a community, or a circle of people who allow your whole self to exist without question. For you, it might be people who are non-judgmental, curious, and willing to learn. People who are unafraid to be themselves, who are open and ambitious, and who share similar interests. People who want to understand you for who you truly are rather than projecting their own stories onto you. For me, it means being with those who listen, who hear the reality of what I go through, and who can look beyond their own perspective. People who are soft, kind, gentle, and playful. People who want to experience and enjoy life without being weighed down by taking it too seriously. People who can go beyond small talk, who can meet me in depth when it comes to conversation, love, and care. Imagine being in a space like that, where you can breathe a little easier and your whole self is welcomed without hesitation.

I have tasted that feeling in certain friendships where I felt completely safe to express myself, where the people around me did not try to shrink me but instead helped more of me come alive. You might know that feeling too, when someone sees you so clearly that you feel lighter in their presence. I have felt it in deep conversations with family members or friends who met me exactly where I was. You may have had that moment where someone’s presence was so focused and loving that it felt like no one else existed. I have felt it in hugs that wordlessly said, I see you fully and I love you for you, and in messages from people who were moved by my words and moved me in return. You may have had your own version of this, a message or a look that reminded you that you matter.

And most significantly, I found it in the community I stepped into when I discovered ThetaHealing. It was one of the first times I met people who had gifts and experiences like mine, people who saw and sensed the world as I did, who wanted to learn, who wanted to heal, who wanted to grow into their best selves. People who wanted more from life and refused to let their past or their pain be the only thing that defined them. Think of a time when you have been in a room like that, where everyone was reaching for more, not just for themselves, but for each other.

There is a saying that you are the average of the five people you spend the most time with. When I look at my life, I can see that I have not always spent enough time around people or in spaces that inspired me. I have allowed my circumstances and the people closest to me to drain me, to guard me, and to make me forget the importance of seeking out those aligned spaces. I stopped trying, and in doing so, I stopped placing myself in the rooms that matched my energy, my values, and my vision.

I know now that this is something I want to change. I am moving towards placing myself in more spaces that inspire me and connect me with people who share my values and vision, and it makes me wonder how different life might have been if I had been surrounded by more like-minded people earlier on. Recently, I watched a few videos online of people who were pursuing their dreams with passion, and even in those short moments, I felt inspired and encouraged. I thought to myself, if I felt this way after a few minutes, what would be possible if I was around this energy every day. And I ask you the same question. Where would you be if you placed yourself in spaces and with people who reflected your highest energy, your deepest values, and your boldest vision.

If you cannot be around those people in person right now, you can begin by filling your world with their voices, their ideas, and their influence. Listen to their podcasts, read their books, follow their work online. Let their energy into your day. At the same time, look for ways to actively join groups, try new things, and make an effort to meet people who are on the same path. And if you cannot find the community you are searching for, create it. Start a group, host a meet-up, or bring together a mastermind where like-minded people can inspire and support each other. The right people will remind you of who you are on the days you forget and will celebrate you on the days you shine. Because the right room will not just hold you, it will grow you. And when you are finally in that kind of space, you are faced with the deeper question of who you will allow yourself to become inside it.

A loving invitation to return to yourself

So here is my invitation to you. Let yourself imagine the version of you that no longer tries to be “enough” for the wrong rooms. Who would you be if you stopped shaping yourself to fit what others could hold? If you gave yourself permission to take up all the space your soul has been craving, how would you move through the world? What would it feel like to trust that your presence is not a burden, but a gift?

At first, it might feel unfamiliar. Maybe even frightening. You might worry that your bigness will be seen as too much, that your joy will make others uncomfortable, that your truth will cost you closeness. You might feel the old urge to shrink, to smooth your edges, to dim the light so no one looks away. But the truth is, your presence does not take away from anyone else. It expands the room for everyone. It gives the people around you permission to take up more space too.

This is not about becoming someone new. This is about returning to who you were before the world convinced you to be less. Before you learned to hold your laugh inside. Before you stopped wearing colours that lit you up. Before you called yourself dramatic for feeling deeply. Before you traded your magic for safety.

You deserve to laugh with your whole chest again. You deserve to stop apologizing for who you are. You deserve to stop calling yourself crazy just because others do not understand your depth. You deserve to walk into a room without scanning for what version of you will be accepted and instead arrive as the whole of you without question.

So today, take one loving step toward reclaiming that bigness. Speak the truth you have been softening. Wear the thing you have been saving for a “better” day. Call back a part of yourself you locked away because it felt safer. Let your joy take up space. Let your voice take up space. Let your heart take up space.

And if you need support as you step into that, know that you do not have to do it alone. I would be honoured to walk beside you in this. You can email me at info@oliviashadid.com to book a session, and we can begin the work of bringing you home to yourself.

When you do, you are not only choosing yourself. You are creating a ripple. Your return to yourself will remind someone else that it is safe for them to return too. That they were never too much, and neither were you.