Being a part of a table has always been something I craved.
Wanting to sit at the table has always been my thing.
Wanting to belong.
Wanting to know there was room for me.
If I’m honest, a lot of that comes from being a little girl carrying abandonment wounds and trying to figure out where she fit. I wanted to know that I mattered. That I was wanted. That someone was expecting me.
For a long time, I thought the goal was simply getting to the table.
But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized there’s a difference between having access to the table and having a seat.
A table is belonging.
A seat is intimacy.
A seat says someone thought about you before you arrived.
Someone anticipated your presence.
Someone made room.
Someone looked around and said, “Save that spot. She’s coming.”
And for me, that’s always meant more than simply being in the room.
Who saved you a seat?
Was it the friend who knew you needed somewhere to land?
The cousin who protected you when nobody else noticed you needed protecting?
The teacher who saw something in you before you saw it in yourself?
The church mother who checked on you every Sunday and made sure you knew you were beautiful?
The auntie who always remembered you, even though you didn’t share the same blood?
When I think about the people who saved me a seat, I don’t always think about physical tables.
I think about emotional ones.
The spaces where I was welcomed before I felt worthy.
The relationships where I was loved before I had everything figured out.
The people who chose me.
Because having a seat is so much more than being present.
A seat gives you position.
It reminds you that you have a place.
It tells you that you don’t have to earn your right to be there.
You belong there.
I am here.
And I have a seat.
Maybe that’s why this idea of tables keeps showing up in my life.
Not because I love gatherings.
Not because I love beautiful dinners.
Not because I enjoy hosting.
But because I know what it feels like to wonder whether there’s room for you.
I know what it feels like to be in the room, sitting at the table, and still feel far away.
And I know what it feels like when someone quietly answers that question by pulling out a chair beside them.
Maybe that’s what we’re all looking for.
Not just a table.
A seat.
A place where our name is already known.
A place where we don’t have to explain why we’re there.
A place where somebody thought enough of us to make room.
So today, I’m thinking about the people who saved me a seat.
The people who made space.
The people who made me feel seen.
The people who made me feel celebrated.
As you read this, I hope you’ll think about them too.
The ones who welcomed you.
The ones who protected you.
The ones who reminded you that you belonged.
And maybe, if you’re fortunate enough to have a seat today, you’ll pull out a chair for someone else.
So I’m wondering: