The Day I Stopped Apologizing
The Day I Stopped Apologizing I used to say “sorry” like it was punctuation. Sorry for being late. Sorry for speaking up. Sorry for crying. Sorry for not crying. Sorry for needing space. Sorry for needing too much. It was reflexive, like breathing. I apologized for my existence, for my emotions, for the way my voice trembled when I tried to explain myself. I thought it made me kind. Graceful. Easy to love. But it didn’t. It made me invisible. The Beginning of the End It started with a coffee mug. A chipped ceramic mug with faded sunflowers. I’d left it on the kitchen counter after a long night of editing reports for work. My partner, Daniel, walked in the next morning, saw the mug, and sighed like I’d committed a felony. “You always leave things lying around,” he muttered, grabbing it with two fingers like it was contaminated. “I’m sorry,” I said, instantly. He didn’t respond. Just rinsed it and left it in the drying rack. That moment should’ve been forgettable. But something abo...