Where Are You Playing Small in Your Movement?

I learned early in life that shrinking was safer.

In 5th grade, I spoke up for my class because we didn’t understand what the teacher was asking. She yelled at me in front of everyone.

As a child athlete—pleasantly average, not a superstar—attention from my coach wasn’t always predictable. Sometimes it was correction. Sometimes it was a roll of tape or a springboard tossed in my direction, depending on his mood.

In one of my very first yoga classes, I started laughing. Not out of disrespect. Out of release. The teacher asked me to leave when others began giggling too.

Message received.

Be quiet.
Don’t stand out.
Don’t take up space.
Get small and you’ll escape with dignity.

I’m 51 now, and I still catch myself shrinking.

Small in accepting praise.
Small in receiving gratitude.
Small in owning what I’ve built.

“You helped me move without pain.”
“Oh, you did the hard work.”

“That was an amazing class.”
“Thank you for showing up.”

There’s truth in honoring others’ effort—but there’s also avoidance in deflecting every ounce of acknowledgment. At some point, humility becomes camouflage.

So I’ve been asking myself:
What does it look like to actually own your success?
Not inflate it.
Not weaponize it.
Not turn it into ego.
Just own it.

In the body, playing small often looks subtle. A half-hearted reach in Warrior II. A softened voice in cueing. A breath that never fully fills the ribs. We hold back a little effort. We cap our expansion. We avoid the full extension of ourselves.

The nervous system remembers.
When you’ve been conditioned that visibility equals vulnerability—or worse, punishment—your body learns to conserve expression. The stress response isn’t always dramatic fight or flight. Sometimes it’s inhibition. Reduced amplitude. Quiet compliance.

Over time, that pattern wires itself in. The body favors safety over expansion. Muscles brace subtly. Breath stays shallow. Posture rounds just enough to lower your profile. You become efficient at containment.

And here’s the important part: that strategy once worked.

It protected you.
But protection strategies don’t always age well.
What protected a 10-year-old might restrict a 51-year-old.

When you consciously choose to expand—to stand taller, to speak clearly, to receive praise without deflection—you are sending a new signal to the nervous system: visibility is survivable. Expression is allowed. Strength does not equal danger.

It doesn’t have to be dramatic.
It might sound like:
“Thank you. I worked hard on that class.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Yes, I’m proud of what I built.”

It might look like:
Holding the full expression of a pose.
Breathing into the back ribs instead of collapsing forward.
Keeping your gaze steady instead of dropping it.

Expansion doesn’t mean arrogance.
It means alignment.

So I’ll ask you what I’m asking myself:
Where are you playing small in your movement?
Where are you dampening your voice, your breath, your reach?
What are you afraid will happen if you are fully seen?
And what might happen if you weren’t punished for it this time?

Maybe growth isn’t about doing more.
Maybe it’s about allowing more.
More breath.
More volume.
More credit.
More presence.
Not because you need to dominate the room.
But because YOU NO LONGER NEED TO DISAPPEAR INSIDE OF IT.

with gratitude,
​Angie

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