The Day I Stopped Apologizing for Existing

By Nadeem Shah

For as long as I can remember, I apologized for everything.

For speaking too loudly. For not speaking at all.

For asking questions. For taking up time.

For needing help. For being in the way.

For being… me.

It wasn't always a spoken apology. Sometimes it was in the way I walked—shoulders hunched, head low, footsteps quiet. Other times, it was in my silence—the way I swallowed opinions, bit my tongue, or laughed nervously to smooth the tension I never created in the first place.

I learned early on that being small made other people more comfortable.

So I made myself small.

I was the "easy one." The "low-maintenance friend." The "good listener."

I wore those labels like medals, not realizing they came at a cost—my own voice.

When I did speak up, it was tentative. Hesitant. Laced with qualifiers like “Sorry, but…” or “This might be dumb, but…” I couldn’t say no without a flood of guilt. I couldn’t ask for space without justifying why I deserved it. I feared rejection, not for who I was, but for simply taking up too much room in someone else's world.

But I was exhausted.

Not from being myself—but from pretending I didn’t need to be seen.

The breaking point came on an ordinary Tuesday.

I had agreed—yet again—to something I didn’t want to do. A meeting I didn’t need to be in. A task I had no bandwidth for. I smiled, nodded, and added it to my plate, knowing it would mean another late night, another skipped meal, another moment stolen from myself.

When I got home, I sat in the dark.

Not crying. Not angry. Just… absent.

And then a quiet, unfamiliar voice inside me whispered:

“What would happen if, just once, you didn’t apologize?”

The question was so simple it stunned me.

What would happen if I stood my ground?

What would happen if I believed my needs mattered?

What would happen if I spoke like I belonged?

So, I tried it.

The next day, I responded to a request with: “I don’t have the capacity for that right now.”

I didn’t say sorry. I didn’t over-explain. I didn’t shrink.

No one exploded. No one hated me.

The world didn’t end.

But something inside me shifted.

It felt... powerful.

Like standing up after sitting in a tight space too long—your legs shaky, your back sore, but the air tastes different when you finally breathe freely.

From that moment on, I started practicing the radical act of taking up space.

I spoke up in meetings. I voiced boundaries. I took longer walks and deeper breaths. I wore the clothes I liked instead of what made me blend in. I laughed louder. I danced with less self-consciousness. I stopped apologizing for existing.

And as I stopped apologizing, I started living.

Not the version of living that’s quiet and careful, but the kind that is bold, grounded, and unapologetically whole.

I realized that shrinking didn’t make me more lovable. It just made me disappear.

And I was done disappearing.

Of course, there were setbacks. There were days I still felt small, still wrestled with guilt, still second-guessed myself. But I kept showing up. Kept choosing truth over people-pleasing. Kept reminding myself:

Taking up space is not selfish.

Needing things is not a burden.

And my existence is not something to be apologized for.

Today, I walk differently. I speak differently.

I enter rooms without rehearsing how to take up less of them.

I still care deeply for others—but I’ve learned that caring for myself is part of that equation.

I don’t need to be loud to matter. But I also don’t need to be silent to be accepted.

I don’t need to explain why I deserve respect, rest, or love.

I exist.

And that is enough.

Author’s Note

Thank you for reading The Day I Stopped Apologizing for Existing. This story is for anyone who has ever made themselves small just to make others comfortable. May it remind you that your presence is not a mistake, your needs are not too much, and your voice matters. Don’t wait for permission to take up space—you’ve had it all along.

—Nadeem Shah