I Have a 3D Aura And I’m Not Dimming It for Nobody

Let me be dead-ass honest.

For too long, I’ve been swallowing myself to make other people feel comfortable. Dimming my brilliance so nobody felt outshined. Making myself digestible, palatable, just to avoid the labels: “too loud,” “too confident,” “too much.” But here’s my truth: I was never too much. They were just never enough to handle me.

I’ve got a 3D aura. It enters the space before I say a word. It’s thick. It’s felt. It shifts the temperature of the room. And for years, I was ashamed of that. I tried to make myself smaller. Softer. Easier to swallow. I shrank my voice. I questioned my own light. I bent over backwards explaining who I am just to be met with confusion, envy, or silence.

I laughed when I was uncomfortable. Smiled through slick comments. Let microaggressions slide to keep the peace. I over-explained my softness so people wouldn’t mistake it for weakness. But now? I’m done with that shit.

For a long time now, I didn’t give a fuck. And I still don’t. I’m just finally putting it into words. I’ve always felt the weird energy. The side-eyes. The fake laughs. The shift in the room when I show up and don’t fold. I clock it all. And I used to try to understand it, to decode it, to make sense of why people act funny around me when I’ve done nothing but exist. The truth is, bitches are weird. And I get it, but at the same time, I really don’t.

And before anyone says, “Maybe it’s you,” I thought that too. I questioned myself over and over. Maybe I was too loud. Maybe I came off rude. Maybe I said something the wrong way. I can be brutally honest with myself, so every time I felt that weird shift, that quiet tension that says they don’t like you, I checked myself.

I always check in with me first. I replay conversations. I analyze my tone. I ask myself if I was off, if I accidentally hurt someone, if I was cold or dismissive. Because I don’t want to be out here unintentionally wounding people who are already fighting silent battles I don’t want to be rude.

But time and time again, I come back to the truth: I wasn’t mean. I wasn’t rude. I was just being me. And sometimes, people project their own insecurities onto anyone who walks in with presence, peace, or self-possession. That’s not on me.

I’m no longer responsible for how my presence makes the unhealed feel. If my energy threatens your insecurity, that’s your assignment, not mine. That’s not intimidation. That’s revelation. You’re looking at a mirror. And if it makes you squirm, then maybe it’s time to do some shadow work. Pray about it. Journal. Heal.

Because yes, my aura is powerful. Yes, it disrupts. Yes, it will make someone who’s hiding from themselves feel exposed.

And I’m exhausted. Tired of walking into rooms where I can feel the tension wrapped in fake smiles. Tired of existing in spaces where my presence becomes a projection screen for everybody else’s unprocessed shit. Tired of being dissected, whispered about, or misread just for being.

Let’s get something straight.

I’m kind, but I’m not weak. I’m peaceful, but I’m not passive. I’m joyful, but I’ve bled for that joy. I’m quiet sometimes, but that silence? That’s power, not permission. I know who I am. I’ve fought to become her. Cried, healed, and unlearned my way into this skin. And I’m not diluting one drop of it so someone else can feel less insecure in their own. I don’t need to be liked. I need to be free.

So if my glow irritates your wounds, that’s your soul asking for attention, not a cue for me to turn myself down.

This light is ancestral. It’s earned. It’s divine.

And it’s not going anywhere.