What Happens When You Stop Apologizing for Taking Up Space?

For most of my life, I didn’t realize how often I apologized for simply being myself. Not always with words. Sometimes I apologized by staying quiet when I wanted to speak. Sometimes by making myself smaller so someone else could feel bigger. Sometimes by laughing a little less loudly. Sometimes by choosing peace over honesty. Sometimes by giving up little pieces of myself because I thought that was the price of belonging.

I didn’t know I was doing it. But I did know that I wanted to keep the peace.

“Because I have always been told, and I can admit, that I am a lot.”

If you’ve been reading my blogs, you’ve probably heard me say that about myself before.

I have a lot of energy. I laugh loudly. I dance like nobody is watching. I speak passionately. I have strong opinions. I make friends easily.

I feel deeply.

I love deeply.

I occupy space.

For years, I thought that was something I needed to manage. And believe me, I have worked on myself and keep working on myself to become a better person for myself and others every day. But now I’m beginning to wonder if I was asking myself the wrong question.

Maybe the question was never whether I was too much.

Maybe the question was whether I wanted to be in spaces where I am neither wanted nor appreciated for all that I am.

That thought stayed with me during a recent trip to Mexico.

As many of you know from my last blog, I had just joined a new book club and was excited to travel with them. I had been looking forward to this trip for months. Not because of Mexico. Because of community.

Or so I thought….

After my previous book club slowly disappeared when the friend who held us all together moved away, I had been longing to find that kind of connection again. I love reading and read all the time. Well, these days I listen to books because of the limitations on my time. Books have also been an excuse for something much bigger for me: meaningful conversations, shared experiences, and friendships that continue long after the last page is turned.

Many of the women in this new club were already friends or acquaintances. Smart women. Successful women. Interesting women. I knew the trip would be an opportunity to get to know some of them beyond our monthly meetings.

So I said yes.

And off we went.

All twenty-one of us women.

Now, if you’ve ever traveled with twenty-one women, you already know this story isn’t going to be boring.

The trip started with delayed flights, missed dinner reservations, and a resort that seemed completely uninterested in the fact that twenty-one tired, hungry women had just arrived after a long day of traveling.

To say customer service wasn’t their strength would be generous. Most of us agreed on that. The resort itself was beautiful, but beauty and hospitality are not always the same thing.

There were wonderful moments too.

One night, a few of us wandered into a nightclub that was almost empty. The music wasn’t exactly inspiring, so I jokingly asked the bartender if buying a bottle would convince the DJ to play what we wanted.

He smiled and said yes.

Within minutes, the room transformed. Merengue. Salsa. Bachata. Reggaetón. They even played dembow. 

We danced. We laughed. Complete strangers joined us. For a little while, the room belonged to us, and we were overjoyed, having an amazing time.

For once, I walked away pleasantly surprised.

But the moment that stayed with me didn’t happen in the nightclub. It happened at the pool.

We were celebrating one of the women’s birthdays. Like many groups of friends celebrating, we got loud. Someone asked us to lower our voices, and we did. We moved away from the bar and into the pool.

Then another woman, someone none of us knew, asked if we would sing Happy Birthday to her too because she loved seeing how much fun we were having.

So we did. It was one of those spontaneous moments that remind you how contagious joy can be.

A few minutes later, a middle-aged white man walked toward our group. He smiled and asked,

“Are you the members of the book club?”

We answered yes. Then he said,

“You don’t look like you’ve ever read a book in your life.”

Time stopped.

He wasn’t talking to one woman.

He was talking to a group of all Hispanic women. Women of color. Successful women. Professionals. Mothers. Business owners. Readers.

My body reacted before my mind had a chance to.

I was furious. I raised my voice. I called out his white privilege. I followed him through the pool while telling him he should be ashamed of himself. He was walking away as I started shouting, and I thought he was a coward for saying what he said and then walking away.

Looking back now, do I wish I had handled it differently? Absolutely.

I wish I had responded with more composure. More restraint. More wisdom. Growth means being honest about that.

But here’s what has stayed with me.

Almost immediately after it happened, the conversation shifted. Not toward the man who had made the offensive comment. Toward me. Toward my reaction. Some women later told me they agreed his comment had been offensive. Others told me I had not represented the values of the group because of how I responded.

And that made me stop and think.

Why is it that so often, when someone crosses a line, the focus quickly becomes how the person who was hurt responded instead of what caused the hurt in the first place?

That doesn’t excuse my reaction.

It simply explains why I was forced to reflect on it. A few days later, after we got back home from the trip, I received a message from the founder telling me I was no longer welcome in the book club.

Surprisingly, I felt… peaceful.

Years ago, I probably would have defended myself. Explained myself. Tried to convince everyone they had misunderstood me. This time I simply replied:

“Thank you for letting me know. I wish you all the best.”

And I meant it.

Ironically, before we left Mexico, I saw the man from the pool and his family. He apologized. He admitted he had been wrong. He told me he should have thought before saying what he did. I accepted his apology. Not because it erased what happened. But because that’s what growth looks like too.

So what was the lesson?

Was it never to travel with twenty-one women again? 

Maybe.

Although I can’t promise I won’t.

Was it that I still have work to do when I feel deeply triggered? 

Absolutely.

I want to keep learning how to respond instead of react. I want to become more measured without becoming less myself.

But I think the biggest lesson was something else.

I realized that belonging and fitting in are not the same thing.

I don’t need every room to welcome me. I don’t need everyone to understand me. I don’t need every community to become my community.

The people who love me for me for me will not require me to shrink in order to belong. They’ll simply make room for me, with my whole self in it.

For years, I thought the answer was learning how to take up less space. Today I think the answer is learning where I am welcome while taking up space and being my whole self.

Maybe that’s what becoming yourself looks like.

Not becoming quieter. Not becoming smaller. Not becoming easier to handle. Just becoming more intentional about where, and with who you choose to stand.

And maybe that’s the biggest lesson of all.

The goal was never to stop taking up space.

The goal is to stop apologizing for it.

Until next time.