There wasn't a big moment-
no lightning bolt, no dramatic ending- just a quiet realization that I was tired. Tired of apologizing for taking up space. Tired of shrinking myself to make others comfortable. Tired of saying "sorry" when I hadn't done a single thing wrong.
For years I apologized for everything. For speaking up, for being too quiet, for being emotional, for being distant, for caring too much, for caring too little, for being fat. I apologized when someone hurt me. I apologized when someone else was in a bad mood, as if somehow my existence was the problem.
And if I'm honest- a lot of that came from my body. I was severely bullied as a child because of my weight. To the point that I was spit on and sometimes physically hurt. Kids could be cruel, but the words that cut the deepest come from adults- the people who were supposed to know better. I still remember hearing things like, "If only your body matched your face." As if I were almost good enough, but not quite. As if my worth could be divided neatly between what people liked to look at and what they didn't.
So, I learned early on to apologize- not directly, but in a thousand subtle ways. I tried to make up for it by being exceptional. If I couldn't be the pretty girl, I would be the smartest, kindest, most helpful, most artistic. I'd be good at everything so that no one could say I didn't deserve to be there. So, all of those "things" you see me doing- I learned those skills to distract from my physical appearance.
I made jokes about my body before anyone else could, thinking if I laughed first, it wouldn't hurt as much. But every joke was really just an apology in disguise- a preemptive "sorry" for taking up more space that people thought I should.
And layered in with that, as I got older, I also felt out of place because I wasn't religious. In a world where faith often defines people's sense of morality or worth, I sometimes felt like I had to prove that I could still be a good person without belonging to a church or fitting into those expectations.
So, I tried harder- to be kind, do the right thing, to make sure no one could ever question my heart. Looking back, I realize that was another way I was apologizing- for being who others thought I should be.
I thought if I just stayed small enough, soft enough, agreeable enough, people would love me more. That they'd see how kind I was, how hard I tried, and they'd stop making me feel like I was too much. But the truth is, no amount of shrinking made anyone see my worth. It just made me disappear. It made me a target that was easy to manipulate and take advantage of.
One day, I actually caught myself apologizing for being upset. I stopped. What was I apologizing for? For having feelings? For being human? That's when it hit me: I wasn't sorry. I was scared. Scared that being honest about who I was would make people leave.
But people who only stay when you're silent, when you're of service to them, aren't really staying for you- they're staying for a version of you that doesn't challenge them. And I don't want that anymore.
So, I stopped apologizing for existing. I still say "sorry" when it's needed- when I've hurt someone, when I've made a mistake- but not when I'm simply being.
Not for my laughter.
Not for my boundaries.
Not for protecting my children.
Not for questioning.
Not for needing rest, or wanting more from life, or for living in the body I was given.
And yet, I still struggle.
Even now, I find myself questioning if I'm worthy enough or good enough. When I didn't even get an interview for that job earlier this year that I KNEW I would be an excellent candidate for, my first thought wasn't, "Their loss." It was, "What's wrong with me?" and "Why wasn't I good enough?" I blamed myself. The old habits of self-doubt still creep in, whispering that maybe I'm not as capable or as valuable as I believe.
But I'm trying to catch those thoughts and not let them define me. I'm not going to lie, it's hard. I have to remind myself that my worth isn't tied to someone else's approval-not a job, not a person, not a number on a scale, the size of clothes, or that I don't believe a particular religion.
Now, instead of "I'm sorry," I say:
"Thank you for understanding."
Or sometimes I just don't say anything at all.
Because I have learned that being myself isn't an inconvenience. It's a right. And if someone can't handle the space I take up, they're free to step back- but I will no longer step aside.
(Cover photo side note, let your kids have your camera every once in a while. You might be surprised at what they capture. This image was shot by Henry a couple of years ago. I never would have let someone shoot below me like that-you know, angles, but it worked.)