Am I too much, or simply more?

"You will always be too much of something for someone: too big, too loud, too soft, too edgy. If you round out your edges, you lose your edge."

— Danielle LaPorte

Growing up, I was a good girl who got good grades, but every year in elementary school, the "Talks too much" box was checked on my report cards. I still feel the burn of shame in my chest when I think back to seeing those marks. Instead of being told I was bright, social, or verbal, I got the message that I was too much.

The feeling persisted. While parts of me felt appreciated, even celebrated, I also got the message growing up that my feelings were too much, my need for acceptance and affirmation was too much. This feeling can hit close to home, especially when you are a passionate, sensitive, or intense person.

For Christmas last year, one of my kids gave me the memoir of Tony Award-winning actress Cynthia Erivo. She titled it Simply More: A Book for Anyone Who Has Been Told They're Too Much — and I laughed when I opened the gift. I felt seen.

Her message: You're not too much. You're simply more.

I've also been reading a historical novel about Margaret Fuller, the 19th-century journalist, editor, and women's rights advocate. Fuller was described by her father as "the much that always wants more," though she described herself as "the much that calls for more." That small but meaningful distinction captures something important: there's a difference between being defined by muchness or wanting and being defined by abundance, naturally calling for more of life.

The pull toward being less

Many of us don't shrink in the moment — we show up fully, say the thing, bring the humor. And then, somewhere on the drive home or in the middle of the night, the second-guessing arrives. Was I too much? Did I take up too much space? Was I too loud, too intense? That shame hangover is its own kind of weight.

There's a difference between that reactive pull toward being less — dimming in anticipation of judgment — and the conscious choice to soften. Softening, at its best, is a strength. It's choosing tenderness, adjusting your energy to meet the moment, making room. It's not self-erasure. It's self-awareness in action.

The irony is that what others may have labeled "too much" is often the very thing that makes us authentic and alive. The intensity that may overwhelm some is the same quality that makes us deeply attuned as friends, partners, and colleagues. Our vibrance can be what drives creative breakthroughs and meaningful change.

Owning your fullness

A client recently shared that she has heard the message that she is too much — too difficult, too opinionated — since childhood. We're working together to acknowledge the hurt of those labels, to name her strengths, and to be sturdy in all of who she is. Instead of feeling like too much, we're working toward a reframe of abundance and fullness.

Owning your fullness may not be a single moment of declaration, but a quiet, gradual shift that begins with noticing. Catching the moment when you are about to swallow an opinion, and then pausing there. When we're curious rather than self-critical, we can ask: Whose voice is this? And is it still serving me?

From there, the work is one of gentle re-expansion. Not performing bigness, but letting yourself be seen — in conversation, in creative work, in how you move through the world — without apologizing for it. It means practicing the belief that your fullness is not a burden to the right people. It is, in fact, what draws them to you.

Appreciating differences

We come in all flavors, styles, and personality types. No matter whether we're on the extroverted or introverted end of the spectrum, whether we process internally or externally, whether we're quick or take our time, we can learn to appreciate the value in our differences. In the office, the committee meeting, at the kitchen table — all of our voices matter.

And if we're people with big personalities, big opinions, big voices, we also carry a responsibility: to stay aware of those with a quieter voice, or who need more time to find their words. Rather than fill every space, a pause can be its own kind of generosity — room for other voices and styles to emerge.

Showing up with awareness

There's an important distinction worth naming here — the difference between self-consciousness and self-awareness. Self-consciousness may be shame-driven, monitoring ourselves through others' eyes and bracing for judgment. Self-awareness is something different entirely. It's curiosity-driven, grounded, and comes from a place of wholeness rather than fear.

Healthy self-awareness asks: How am I showing up right now? What is driving this — excitement, anxiety, a need to be heard? And how is it serving, or not serving, the people around me and myself?

This is a mature, steady place to land. Not shrinking, not performing, but present — aware of our own energy and genuinely interested in how it meets the world. For those of us with big voices and strong personalities, self-awareness becomes a kind of gift we offer others, making room at the table without diminishing our own seat at it.

Becoming simply more

This is what it means to be simply more — not too much, not edited down, but fully, presently yourself. That's not a problem to be managed. It's a gift to be lived.

Are there places in your life where you've been turning down the volume on yourself? What would it feel like to take up exactly the space you're meant to take up?

If you're navigating a transition and wondering who you might be on the other side, I'd love to explore that with you and offer a complimentary discovery session. Reach out anytime — I’m here.

With warmth,

Wendy