not sorry.
I was afraid people would think I was a failure for leaving a toxic relationship.
Part of the reason I stayed in it for so long is that I was afraid people would think I was just giving up — that I was “less than” because I had failed to take a broken thing and make it better. I preached for years about why our issues actually made us stronger, and leaving meant that I was admitting that wasn’t true after all. The layers of guilt and fear of others’ perception of that time in my life took YEARS to unravel and mend.
I was afraid my family would hate me for eloping.
It was just us, our witnesses, our photographer, and our friend who married us with his online ordination certificate he acquired a couple weeks prior. It wasn’t an easy decision to not include our families (whom I adore) in the ceremony, but we both knew without a doubt that it was the right one for us. I’m really proud of sticking to my guns about something so important, and our ceremony and reception afterwards with our closest friends and family couldn’t have been more perfect. But I would be lying if I said I haven’t also carried a deep guilt the last 3+ years over how that decision made my family feel.
I was afraid people would think we were irresponsible for trying to get pregnant during a pandemic.
I was also afraid people would think we got pregnant because we were “bored,” or that we were dumb for not giving birth in a hospital. I got very self conscious any time I held a baby while I was pregnant because I thought people would be critiquing my mothering skills. I thought everyone’s eyes were on me when I drank a mocktail at a restaurant — would people think I was drinking while pregnant? And when we actually ended up in a hospital, I was afraid of what other women would think of me when I got the epidural.
I was afraid people would think I was a bad mom for giving my baby a binkie.
After we brought her home, I agonized over when to introduce a bottle and binkie. We were told anytime before 3 weeks was too soon, but I just knew those two things would be invaluable tools in our toolbox for helping her be comfortable and happy. It felt like we had been doing long division by hand and things would be so much easier if we only had a calculator, but I didn’t want to let our midwives down. At 2 weeks and 5 days, after ending up in a puddle of tears (again) my husband gently reminded me that I was the only one denying myself the calculator.
The common denominator here should be plain to see: I care too much about what other people think.
The thought of someone disapproving of my decisions or behavior brings me more anxiety than just about anything else. Being a people pleaser (see: Enneagram 9) means that even when it comes to the biggest life decisions, I consider how my actions will make everyone else feel before I consider my own feelings. This can often be misconstrued as selflessness, but in reality it’s a nasty habit that spawns from a deep-seated desire to keep the peace around me at all costs. And in the end, it leaves me incredibly muddy about how I actually feel.
Truth is, some people probably did judge me for some of those things. But the more important truth (one that I’m still learning to accept) is that their opinions are none of my business.
You might be interested to know that I started to write this post in February 2021. It has taken me this long to get everything *just right* and feel ready to actually press publish. Just yesterday I was telling my husband that 2023 was going to be the year of me being unapologetically myself. He laughed and said, “Wow I wonder what that looks like, you’ve been apologetically yourself as long as I’ve known you” and I laughed that kind of laugh you do when someone hits you with a truth bomb right in the gut.
As usual, he’s right.
I don’t need to embark on some epic journey to “find myself”— I already know myself. What I need to do is shed the heavy blanket of guilt that accompanies me whenever “myself” isn’t what I think other people want.
In 2023, I commit to apologizing less, speaking up more and actively working to reprogram the part of my brain that constantly tells me I need to make myself more palatable for others. To you, that might look like me actually having an opinion when you ask me where I’d like to meet for coffee. It might mean that I post a photo of my kid without including an explanation about why I’m posting. It might mean that I say “no” to a favor without spending an hour (not exaggerating) crafting the perfect text to explain why. To me, all of those situations (and countless more) are monumental internal struggles that hinder me on a daily basis from fully enjoying my life. The idea of someday being able to do and say things that feel authentic to me without obsessing over how others perceived it for days afterwards sounds like a freedom that I’m finally ready to experience after 33 years. And if you ask me, that’s 33 years too long to live that way.
So here is me, in writing, saying that I am not sorry.
That’s it. Period. End of story. I’m going to stall a little bit more until my brain can let go of the need to include an apology-flavored caveat at the end of this. K bye. Peace out. TTYL.
Love,
Sarah