I’m still learning that I don’t have to shrink to be safe.
It slips out of my mouth like breath — automatic, unconscious.
When someone interrupts me.
When I disagree.
When I ask for something I need.
Sometimes I hear it come out and want to pull it back midair.
Why am I apologizing again?
What am I so afraid of?
The truth is: I learned early that being agreeable, quiet, and easy to be around was what kept the peace. That keeping others comfortable was the safest thing I could do. That not being “too much” — or having needs, or strong feelings — made me more lovable.
So I became the girl who said sorry before she even spoke. Just in case.
Sorry for asking.
Sorry for crying.
Sorry for existing a little too loudly.
And even now, after years of growth and awareness and change, I still catch myself in the middle of old patterns. Still shape-shifting in certain rooms. Still explaining myself when I don’t need to. Still making myself small.
But something is different now.
Now, I notice it.
Now, I pause.
Now, I’m starting to ask:
What would happen if I didn’t apologize this time?
What if I said, “Here’s what I need,” without softening the edges?
What if I said, “That didn’t feel right to me,” and didn’t rush to smooth it over?
What if I just… stood there, fully human, without asking permission to take up space?
I’m not all the way there yet.
But I’m closer than I used to be.
There are days I catch myself mid-sentence and say something different instead:
“Thank you for waiting.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“I need a minute.”
It feels awkward. Unnatural. A little rebellious.
But it also feels like telling the truth.
And maybe that’s the whole point of this unraveling — not to become someone entirely different, but to come home to the version of me that was buried under all the pleasing, the placating, the “sorrys.”
If you’re in the middle of this work too —
Still becoming.
Still noticing.
Still re-learning what it means to be seen and not silenced —
You’re not behind. You’re not broken.
You’re just waking up.
All My Love,
-J
P.S.
If you’re the kind of woman who apologizes before she speaks, I hope you know: your voice matters. You don’t have to keep shrinking to survive. You can be soft and honest, strong and tender, all at the same time. That is not too much — that is wholeness.
What’s something you’ve apologized for recently that didn’t really need an apology? What helps you speak more truthfully — even when it feels uncomfortable?
Steele Water 
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