In the hospital waiting room, I wonder if it’s okay to come in for something this small.

Sitting in the waiting room and watching other people’s faces, my own discomfort starts to seem too small to warrant coming here.

Scenes

I wonder if it’s okay to come in for something this small. — Sitting in the waiting room and watching other people’s faces, my own discomfort starts to seem too small to warrant coming here.
When it’s my turn, I suddenly feel small. — Each time someone’s name is called, I find myself first wondering whether what I need to explain is really such a big deal.
I keep cutting down what I want to say. — When I erase the words I prepared again outside the exam room, all that remains is what won’t inconvenience anyone, rather than what needs explaining.
Shaken self-esteem makes me compare even my needs. — When my self-esteem is shaken, I look first at whether other people are enduring this much, instead of how much I’m struggling. Comparison doesn’t tell me the truth.
Leave only what I want to find out. — Tonight, write just one line on paper: “What was it I wanted to find out?” It’s okay if your heart doesn’t accept it right away.
Even if I write it small, my reason remains. — The next time you want to make your own concerns smaller, that one line can become a small mark separating other people’s standards from your needs.