No More "It's Okay"

To Whom It May Concern,

Effective immediately, I hereby resign from my long-held, unpaid, and emotionally taxing position as The One Who Always Says "It's Okay."

It's not. It hasn't been. And frankly, I am tired of pretending it is.

You forgot. You fell asleep. You made other plans and didn't think I'd mind. You were tired. You assumed it wouldn't matter. You figured I'd understand. You canceled last minute...Again.

You got loud. You got careless. You said you were "just being honest," but it felt like cruelty. You crossed a line.

Invites left unsent. Messages left on read. Calls left unanswered. Promises broken. Milestones ignored.

It's not just one thing. It's hundreds of tiny forgettable paper cuts that eventually create a deep wound. You didn't notice, but I started bracing for the disappointment. I started to expect it, even making back up plans. So when the "Sorry, can we raincheck?" text came through, I wasn't that hurt.

In fact, I'm so conditioned to the rainchecks, that I'm surprised when you don't ask for them.

You hand out apologies like breath mints. And I accepted them. Not because it was okay, but because it was easier.

You apologize, again and again, and I sweep it away like forgiveness is a reflex. At this point, it practically is.

I've been disappointed, interrupted, forgotten. In response, I've offered comfort to those who've hurt me. Smiling through headaches. Saying "it's okay," while my stomach tied itself in knots.

I learned young that people like you more when you're convenient, so I adapted. I was flexible with my time, my opinions, my preferences.

People never complain about the friend that goes with the flow. Vote with the majority, keep your opinions to yourself, and don't cause any problems. No one wants to hang out with the person who complains about the food, the music, or the movie every time.

As an adult, I found more like-minded people. I didn't have to change who I was, but I still find myself needing to be "convenient". I let other people choose the time, the place, the plan. If things change. That's fine. Need to cancel? That's fine too.

I learned to read the room before I entered it. To shrink when space was tight. To adapt my schedule, my needs, even my sense of humor, so I wouldn’t be ‘too much.’

Why would I tip the boat and risk upsetting a friend when really... it's okay. I understand that things happen. Life is unpredictable. You have car trouble. You don't feel the best. You don't want to be around people. You work early. Your dog is sick. You have too much laundry. You don't have the funds. You just don't feel like it.

THAT'S FINE.

But why does it seem like you're always apologizing? Why does it happen so often?

Is it because I always say it's okay?

Maybe I taught you that nothing had consequences. Maybe every "it's okay" chipped away at my boundaries, until they were just dust on your shoes. Maybe I thought love meant swallowing discomfort without complaint.

I soften my tone, water down my disappointment, and tell myself I'm taking the high road, but really I'm just being quiet. Maybe even a coward.

I told myself I was being kind. That I was choosing peace. But my kindness without honesty was a performance, and peace without boundaries was simply silence. I've been quiet a long time.

And quiet has a cost.

I'm tired.

Tired of being the emotional buffer. Tired of being "the chill one," the one who "never gets mad," and the one who "always understands."

Because I do get mad. I don't always understand. And for the love of everything—I am not always chill.

Just because you've never seen me angry or frustrated doesn't mean I don't feel it behind closed doors. Your words, your actions, may have led to a few tears or curse words, but only released once I was alone.

Even in therapy, I mistakenly reserve too much empathy for everyone else, as if understanding their side excuses everything.

I tell myself I understand their situation, so how could I be mad?

But understanding doesn't erase hurt.

So, no. I don't accept your apology. I would like to take a moment to sit with what you've done. Instead... Thank you for your apology. I will forgive you in due time. Probably.

I will no longer be treating your guilt like it's my responsibility. It is not my job to forgive you.

This is not a meltdown. It's a memo.

Boundaries don't make me unkind. They make me whole.

So... I resign.

From being easy. From being fine. From being your safety net of "it's okay."

It's not okay. And for once, I'm not going to pretend that it is.

Sincerely,

Someone Who is Not Always Okay