
Just write she said.
Don’t think about it being perfect or right.
Don’t think about who will read it.
Just write.
That was the advice I sought from Chantel last week. I have followed her for many years, and I have recently watched her grow, and I am so proud of it. Oh its delightful watching someone become openly who they are. And so I sought her advice for writing. I so miss it. Im not interested in being an ‘influencer’; nor do I have the talents of my favourite Joan Didion. I just want to be a lifeteller, a lesson sharer. But get me in front of a keyboard, and well, I get stuck. What I have to say is useless. Why would anyone want to know what a woman of my age, with no credentials and poor grammar, has to offer? But in recent months, I am tired of being myself. Im tired of being small. Tired of apologising for my existence.
It’s been an evolution, an awakening if you like, but the most recent push has come off the back of a conversation with B2, who, friends you wouldn’t even recognise. Oh my, just the most beautiful young man. We did well.
So.
We were at our third place, the cafe, and I was chatting to the owner, but on leaving, I had this moment where I felt I had talked about myself too much. I spoke to B2 about it that night. No mum, it’s fine, that’s just exchanging in conversation, how we get to know each other.
But- do you know how many times I have been told I talk about myself too much, that I deflect, that I make it all about me? Well, you wouldn’t, but I now analyse every conversation I have.
I should apologise to them, I said.
NO, he says with a half-laugh. You know mum Dad tells me that when he met you, you were fierce. Didn’t care. You spoke up. Had a quick tongue and one that sorted you into line. It’s where B3 gets it from.
I smiled and debated whether I should tell him that, after years of living with constant voices that were not my own, that I was this and that; it gets to one after a while. You become thin on the outside and on the inside. You become small. You become inconsequential, a feeling I have battled with but could never name until recently, when I had my charts read.
The next day we found ourselves there again, our third place, as I brought him lunch for working for me. And being me, I apologised to the cafe owner for making our conversation about myself. She looked confused. I had to explain but I felt better I had a apologised for being me.
B2 said to me as I stepped outside to our table. You apologised, didn’t you?
I did what I said. I had to. I don’t want to ever take up too much space. He didn’t smile. Instead, he said, “Can you just repeat what you said to me again, but this time to yourself?
I did. And once upon a time, I would have been aghast. Because just the night before, I had said to my youngest, “Don’t become smaller to make others feel better.”
I considered myself as he continued, and I listened as my eighteen-year-old school me.
Mum, he said, ‘When are you going to get tired of apologising for yourself?’ You have nothing to apologise for. Just be you.
So I am here. Just being me. Writing like no one is reading, and if they are its in the hope that it might help someone feel a little bit bigger than they thought they were.
Because unless your an old man reaking havoc on the world with bad tan and questionable decsions you are worth every bit of space you ‘take up’.
xxDeb.





