Sorry, not sorry

Let's talk about the word "sorry". Because we women say it constantly.

When we walk into a room.

When someone bumps into us.

Before we share an opinion.

Before we ask for something we're completely entitled to.

When we laugh too loud, take up too much space, want too much, feel too much, or simply are too much.

And here’s why. We’ve been trained – expertly, efficiently, from a very young age – to shrink, smooth our edges, and make ourselves easier to digest.

Frankly, I’m done with it.

Here's what I want to know. Who decided what a respectable, acceptable, appropriate woman looks like? Who wrote that rulebook? Because I've been looking for her my whole life and I'm starting to think she doesn't exist. There is no woman who has it perfectly together, who never embarrasses herself, who only enjoys the right things in the right quantities and always behaves accordingly.

There is only the performance of that woman. And the performance is exhausting.

I'm not talking about basic human decency. Being kind matters. Showing up for people matters. That's not what this is about.

I'm talking about the stuff we've been made to feel bad about for no good reason at all.

The things we love that are apparently too silly, too indulgent, too basic, too weird, too embarrassing, too loud, not intellectual enough, not healthy enough, not aspirational enough.

We’ve somehow convinced ourselves that the things that make us genuinely, stupidly, unashamedly happy require a disclaimer.

“I know it's ridiculous, but I'm obsessed with...” 

“Don't judge me but I actually love... “

“It's so embarrassing but I can't stop...”

Stop. Just stop.

Joy, the kind that lights you up from the inside, is almost never sophisticated. In fact, more often than not, it’s a little unhinged.

And why the f**k shouldn’t it be?

There's a quote I love by Hunter S. Thompson that goes: "Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming 'Wow! What a ride!'"

I want to skid in broadside. I want to arrive at the end of my life thoroughly used up by the things that lit me up, not perfectly preserved by the things that were expected of me.

So here it is. The veil, dropped. A list of things I’m simply not sorry for:

·       Being outrageous, loud, and a little inappropriate

·       Wearing my heart on my sleeve

·       Shopping wherever the hell I want

·       Loving rom-coms and mushy, sad music

·       Being unbelievably clumsy and having embarrassing accidents

·       Appreciating the sight of a good bum on a man

·       Dancing wildly when I have no actual talent to

… and the list goes on.

The women I admire most in this world are not the ones who have it all together. They’re the ones who show up exactly as they are. Zero apologies, no disclaimers, take it or leave it.

That kind of authenticity is more of a joy to be around than any pretence, performance, or perfection could ever be.

So, the next time you catch yourself saying sorry before you've done anything wrong; before you've shared an opinion or asked for something or admitted to a pleasure that brings you nothing but happiness…

Ask yourself what Joy would do.

Joy would order the thing, say the thing, love the thing loudly and without a single apology.

Joy would skid in broadside.

The only question is whether you're coming with her.