Letter 008

You Made Me Apologize for Wanting More.

Not just technically safe.

Not probably nothing will happen safe.

I wanted the kind of safe where my body could actually relax.

And somehow, around you, even that became something I had to defend.

Wanting to live in an overly safe neighborhood meant I was spoiled.

Wanting certain things meant I was materialistic.

Working hard enough to afford them meant I cared too much about money.

Having standards meant I was difficult.

Having preferences meant I was judgmental.

And wanting a different life somehow became evidence that I thought I was better than everyone else.

A snob.

That word did something to me.

Because I never wanted to be someone who looked down on people.

I know what it feels like to be judged.

I know what it feels like to feel small.

So when you suggested that my choices meant I thought I was better than someone else, I took it seriously.

I started examining myself instead of examining what you were doing to me.

Was I asking for too much?

Was I shallow?

Was I becoming one of those people?

Should I want less?

Should I stop talking about the things I was working toward?

Should I make myself smaller so nobody confused my ambition with arrogance?

For a while, I did.

And that's the part that bothers me now.

Because I wasn't working hard so I could stand above anyone.

I was working hard because I wanted to build a life I felt safe inside.

There is a difference.

Wanting safety isn't an insult to people who live somewhere else.

Wanting financial stability isn't a judgment of people who don't have it.

Enjoying something nice doesn't mean I believe I'm more deserving than someone who doesn't own it.

And ambition isn't automatically arrogance.

I can want more for myself without believing I am more than anyone else.

I wish I had understood that then.

Because you made me feel like I needed to apologize for things I had worked incredibly hard to create.

You could take an accomplishment and somehow leave me embarrassed by it.

You could make me hesitate before saying what I wanted because I already knew how it might be interpreted.

Eventually, I learned to introduce my own desires with an apology.

I know this probably sounds snobby, but…

I hate that sentence now.

I hate how easily it came out of my mouth.

Because somewhere along the way, I had learned to insult myself before anyone else got the chance.

And there was another part you didn't understand.

Safety wasn't abstract to me.

It wasn't a status symbol.

It wasn't about having the right ZIP code to impress somebody.

I wanted to come home and exhale.

I wanted to park my car and not scan everything around me.

I wanted to close my door at night and believe that what was on the other side of it couldn't hurt me.

I wanted boring.

Predictable.

Quiet.

Safe.

After everything I had experienced, those things felt luxurious enough.

So yes.

I worked hard.

And yes, I wanted the life that work could help me build.

I'm allowed to be proud of that.

I'm allowed to enjoy what I've earned.

I'm allowed to choose where I live based on what makes me feel secure.

I'm allowed to have standards without turning those standards into judgments about somebody else's life.

And I'm allowed to want more without apologizing for already having enough.

There will always be someone who hears a boundary and calls it judgment.

Someone who sees ambition and calls it greed.

Someone who sees standards and calls them entitlement.

Someone who sees a woman who knows what she wants and decides she must think she's better than everyone else.

I can't control that interpretation.

I can only stop organizing my life around disproving it.

I just stopped believing that wanting better for my life means I think I'm better than other people.

And I'm not apologizing for that anymore.