What Happens When We Stop Shrinking Ourselves and Start Taking Up Space

I was in a café last week when I noticed it again.

A woman at the table beside me kept apologising. Not for anything that required an apology - but for existing in the space. For her bag being slightly in the way. For asking a question. For needing a moment to decide what to order.

I recognised it immediately because I’ve done it too.

That reflexive shrinking.

That quiet, constant self-editing.

The way we make ourselves smaller, softer, less inconvenient - folding inward before anyone even asks us to.

Shrinking Is Something We Learn

Shrinking isn’t something most of us choose consciously. It’s something we learn.

We learn it young, often before we have words for it. We learn that certain kinds of presence are too much. That taking up space - physical, emotional, vocal - can be unsafe. That being loud, or certain, or unapologetic comes with consequences.

For many of us, shrinking was survival. It was the cost of being allowed to stay.

And for a while, it worked.

But here’s what I’ve come to understand: shrinking doesn’t just protect us.

Over time, it costs us.

The Hidden Cost of Making Ourselves Smaller

The cost isn’t always obvious at first.

It shows up in the way we defer to others, even when we know what we want. In the way we second-guess our instincts. In the careful choreography of making sure everyone else is comfortable before we allow ourselves to breathe fully.

It shows up in creativity that stays hidden. In ideas we don’t share. In performances we never attempt because we’re already anticipating judgement.

It shows up in our bodies. In crossed arms. In half-filled seats. In the subtle ways we make ourselves physically smaller, as if our presence itself is an imposition.

Shrinking, the Body, and the Loss of Joy

And it shows up in joy - or rather, in the quiet absence of it.

Because when you spend years shrinking, you start to forget what it feels like to expand. To claim space without apology. To move through the world with the full weight of your presence - embodied, grounded, here.

Shrinking isn’t just a mindset.

It’s something the body remembers.

Masculinity Without Apology

I think about this a lot in the context of masculinity.

So much of what we’re taught about being masculine is about taking up space. About authority, presence, power. About being seen.

But for people who’ve spent years shrinking - particularly queer people, trans people, and anyone navigating gendered expectations that never quite fit - stepping into masculinity isn’t just about performance. It’s about undoing the habit of apologising for existing.

It’s about asking:

What happens when I stop making myself smaller?

What happens when I walk into a room and don’t immediately scan for where I might be too much?

What happens when I speak without softening my voice first?

What happens when I take up the space I actually need, instead of the space I think I’m allowed?

What Happens When We Stop Shrinking Ourselves

This is part of what we’re exploring in They Will Be Kings, a collaboration between Kings of Joy and WEREWOLF Productions.

It’s not a show about masculinity as dominance or bravado. It’s about what masculinity can be when it’s built on our own terms - tender, playful, multifaceted. An invitation to stop shrinking and start expanding into something more honest.

The work asks: what does it mean to be seen - fully, unapologetically - as the version of yourself you’ve been quietly holding back?

I don't think that question ever fully resolves. Every time I step more fully into myself, I discover there's another layer I'd been holding back - another edge I hadn't seen yet.

But I do know this: the moment you stop shrinking, something shifts.

It doesn’t mean you suddenly become loud or aggressive or careless. It doesn’t mean you stop being thoughtful or considerate.

It means you stop apologising for the space you occupy.

You stop editing yourself down before you’ve even begun.

You stop waiting for permission to be present.

And that shift - however small it feels at first - changes everything.

Where are you still shrinking?

What would it feel like to stop?

Not in some grand, performative way. Just quietly. In your body. In the way you move through a room. In the way you speak. In the way you allow yourself to be seen.

I’m sure there’s much more to say about this. For now, there’s more to discover - and if it resonates, I invite you to continue exploring it too.

Xx

Danica Lani

The King Coach

About Danica Lani, The King Coach

Hey you 👋 I’m Danica Lani—also known as The King Coach. I’ve mentored 150 first-time Drag Kings since 2020, and I’m here to say: if you’re feeling the pull to explore gender through performance, you’re not alone—and you’re not too late.

Whether you’re new to this world or quietly dreaming of stepping into your masculine side on stage, there’s space for you here.

✨ Curious about naming your King? Download Claim Your Drag King Name in 4 Simple Steps—a free guide to choosing your Drag King name.

💫 Want to see what’s possible? Explore Kings of Joy and discover the queer community bringing masculine expression to life with joy, power, and heart.

📸 Sarah Malone. Dario di Bello/Danica Lani & Lord of Dance/Nyx