“You’re ‘too much’ Michelle, I don’t know how anyone could deal with it,” she told me.

It stung. If I was ‘too much’ how was I supposed to deal with it - the pain - all on my own. Being told I’m ‘too much’ felt like a slap across the face and like I was isolated on an island to manage all my pain and trauma on my own.

It started as a child, I was ‘too stubborn.’ When I was burned I was burned ‘too much,’ how would I survive and how would those around me cope and deal, especially considering I was ‘too much’ of a hard patient.

It continued:

“Your story is ‘too’ much.”
“You’re ‘too’ nice.”
“You care ‘too’ much.’”
The surgery details are ‘too’ much for other people, don’t tell them.
“You share ‘too’ much.”
“You’re ‘too’ open and vulnerable.”
“You’re ‘too’ cold.”
“Your scars are ‘too’ much.”
“Your pain is ‘too’ much.”
“You love ‘too’ much and ‘too’ hard.”
“You feel ‘too’ much; to you don’t feel enough.”
“You’re ‘too’ independent.
“You need ‘too’ much support.
“You’re ‘too’ smart.”

The list goes on. But here is the thing.

“Everyone wants a strong woman until she actually stands up, flexes her muscles, projects her voice...suddenly, she is too much. She has forgotten her place. You love those women as ideas, fantasies.. Not as breathing, living humans threatening to be even better than you could ever be.” -Ari Eastman

I am not ‘too much’. I am just enough, actually I am more than enough. And this ‘too much’ is what makes me strong, and a fighter. I am me. I am not afraid to own my story. To share my story. To own my pain. To ask for support. To share my feelings and thoughts. And if that makes me ‘too much’ for you, go somewhere else, because I will not minimize myself for you to be comfortable. If I am too much, go find less.

I am not sorry for being ‘too much.’