Too Much Moo for One Pasture

On Shrinking, Relationship Dynamics, and Remembering Who You Are

There are certain cows who stroll into the pasture and take up all the grass.

You know the ones.

Loud. Opinionated. Sometimes dazzling. Sometimes draining. They don’t necessarily mean harm. But their presence is… full.

And suddenly, without realising it, without planning it— you shrink.

Not in a physical way. But in that small, subtle, soul-tucking way. You become quieter. Smaller. More agreeable.

You second-guess your stories. Laugh a little too hard at jokes that don’t land.

You sit in the corner of your own self.

It’s not always obvious. But it’s there. You might start to notice how certain people make you feel like too much and not enough, all at once.

How being around them stirs up the old stuff—the younger version of you who learned to dim down to keep the peace.

Who figured out early that being big, loud, visible, or emotional wasn’t always welcome.

So you moo less.

You take up less space. Because somehow their energy says:

“There’s already too much moo in this pasture.”

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But you love them still.

You know their stories. You know they’re carrying storms of their own. You know their volume comes from their own wounds.

But that doesn’t mean your shrinking isn’t real. Or that you should keep doing it. Because that shape you take around them?That smaller version?

That’s not who you were born to be.

So maybe it’s time to stop apologising for the space you take up. Maybe you get to stand in the middle of the room, tail high, eyes soft, and say:

“There’s enough room for all our moos.”

Because shrinking isn’t kindness. It’s just quieter self-abandonment.

And you’ve done enough of that to know—it doesn’t end in peace. It ends in silent resentment, packed down like hay in a barn that desperately needs mucking out.

So grow. Remind yourself: your voice doesn’t have to be the loudest to be worthy.

Some of us were made for softer moos.

For quieter wisdom. For presence that doesn’t shout, but still stands. And that’s enough.

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If you’ve been shrinking—around certain people, in certain pastures, under certain eyes—here’s what I gently offer:

Don’t wait for permission to expand.

Don’t wait for the loud ones to quiet down before you speak.

Don’t wait until you’re bursting at the seams with resentment before you take a step back and ask, “Is this shrinking helping me grow?”

Your voice matters—even if it quivers.

Let them have their moo.

But keep yours, too.

You were never too much. Maybe just surrounded by those who never learned how to hold all of you.

And darling—there’s room for your moo.

Especially in that pasture.