From Here to Better

I’ve always been one to over-apologize. I’d say sorry for things that weren’t my fault, for things that were beyond my control, for moments when I simply needed to voice my feelings. I’d apologize for being uncomfortable, for setting a boundary, for speaking up about something that didn’t sit right with me.

And then there’s the “haha.” That little addition at the end of a text, an email, a sentence—something so small, yet so telling.

• Hey, I actually need more time on this, haha.
• I’m not really comfortable with that, haha.
• I don’t really like that, haha.

It was my way of softening what I was saying. Making my words seem less direct, less serious, less confrontational. It was an unconscious habit, a way to make sure I didn’t come across as too much, too assertive, too difficult.

But I’ve started catching myself.

Lately, when I type something out—whether to a friend, a colleague, or anyone—I’ve noticed I stop before hitting send. I pause, look at the sentence, and delete the unnecessary “haha” before sending it. And when I go to type “sorry” for something that isn’t actually my fault? I take a second and ask myself, Do I really need to apologize for this? More often than not, the answer is no.

This may not seem like a big deal. To some, it might even feel insignificant. But to me? It’s huge.

Because it’s not just about removing a word or changing a sentence. It’s about unlearning a habit that’s been ingrained in me for years—the habit of minimizing myself for the comfort of others.

I spent so much of my life trying to make other people happy, to avoid conflict, to make sure no one ever felt uncomfortable because of me. But where did that leave me?

Apologizing for things I shouldn’t apologize for.
Softening my own voice to keep the peace.
Dismissing my own needs just to make someone else comfortable.

And honestly? I’m done with that.

I’m learning to take up space. I’m learning that I don’t have to shrink myself just to be liked, that I don’t have to dilute my words just to avoid being seen as “too much.” I’m learning that my voice—my real voice—is enough.

So here’s my lesson in all of this: You don’t have to apologize for existing. You don’t have to soften yourself to be accepted. You don’t have to make yourself smaller just to fit into the spaces other people create for you.

Say what you mean. Own your words. Take up space. And stop apologizing for being exactly who you are.

Here’s to standing tall. Here’s to unlearning. Here’s to better.