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# You Are Not the Room
- URL: https://www.layersofzoe.net/you-are-not-the-room/
- Published: 2025-08-02T16:52:01.000Z
- Updated: 2026-01-01T14:06:07.000Z
- Author: Layers of Zoe
- Tags: In the Quiet, mothering

You are *not* the room.  
Not the thick air,  
the chipped mug,  
the mould on the bathtub.

Not the silence that clings to the ceiling,  
or the rot of hours with no answers.

You are *not* broken,  
doomed, undeserving,  
a fraud.

Nothing wasted,  
nothing lost.

You’re just stuck –  
*like a shopping trolley* 
*with three coins jammed in the slot.*

Twenty-five browser tabs  
on a brain that needs sleep,  
not another update.  
You’re *frozen*,  
mid-scroll.

Yes, it’s unfair.  
Yes, it’s exhausting.  
They say the sky is the limit –  
then clip your wings at the gate.

This door’s jammed?  
Find another way.

This path is closed?  
Take a detour.

I remember when you cried  
over Pokémon,  
and made a mouse from mashed potato.  
Even then,  
you held the world too gently.

Take flying lessons.  
Take knitting lessons.  
Take chances.  
Take your time.  
Take up space.  
Take nothing for granted.

Become a doctor.  
No?  
A chef, then.  
A cloud sommelier.  
A diplomat.  
The next Roman nose at the UN.  
(*Francesca Albanese looks tired.*)

Or the first to say:  
“Not this. Not yet.”

Apply. Ignore. Rinse. Repeat.

Fold T-shirts  
in a sports shop,  
your mind on cell scaffolds.

Buy a notebook  
that waits without questions.

Say no.  
Say maybe.  
Say: “Can I think about it?”  
You’re allowed to say: “Fuck off.”  
(*You don’t have to explain.*)

None of this will fix you.  
Fixing you was never the point.

The point is:  
You are not the room.  
You can *step out of it.*

*And when you do,* 
*the air will shift.*

A path will clear.  
It will perhaps appear,  
when you’ve stopped waiting for one.

As for me:  
I might be frightening.  
Often wrong.  
Not gentle –  
but still here.

I ask for nothing.  
I'll take the best version –  
right after the worst.

I will be the light,  
slow-turning, silent.  
Sweeping the dark for you,  
twenty storeys high,  
at the edge of home.