People have had a lot to say about me over the years. I admit I’ve left a trail of people in my wake, and I’m sure I’m the villain in plenty of stories. I’ve been called so many things. 

Too talkative. Too quiet.
Too much. Not enough.
Bossy. Weak.
Bitchy. A pushover.
Brazen. Timid.
Opinionated. Indecisive.
Stubborn. Too easily swayed.
Cold. Too emotional.
Scatterbrain. Controlling.
Clingy. Distant.
Irrational. Calculating.
Classless. Snobby.
Trashy. Uptight.
Frigid. Slut.
Whore. Prude.  
Arrogant. Insecure.
Fat. Too skinny.
Ugly. Vain.
Impulsive. Overthinker. 
Overprotective. Careless.
Jealous. Egotistical.   
Bitter. Naive.
Delusional. Cynical.
Fuckable. Unfuckable.
Mean. Too nice.
Unstable. Emotionless.
Cocktease. Desperate.
Flirt. Unapproachable.
Stupid. Over-analytical.
Flippant. Uptight.
Rebellious. Obedient.
Self-absorbed. Insecure.
Confrontational. Evasive.
Overbearing. Spineless.
Moody. Too predictable.
Argumentative. Pushover.
Messy. Too rigid.
Airhead. Overthinker.
Unrefined. Pretentious.
Frumpy. Showy.
Aggressive. Spineless.
Childish. Jaded.
Self-righteous. Amoral.
Pushy. Indifferent.
Too open. Too guarded.
Flaky. Uptight.
Weird. Boring.
Intimidating. Dull.
Workaholic. Lazy.
Reckless. Overcautious. 

I carried these words for a long time. I let them sink in and shape me. I let them make me second-guess myself, because when you hear something enough, especially from people who claim to know you, and claim to love you, you start to wonder if it’s true. 

And that’s the weight of other people’s expectations. It crushes. It twists. It forces you into shapes that don’t fit, molds you into something easier to accept, something quieter, something smaller. 

And for what? Approval that shifts like sand. Acceptance that disappears the moment you stop performing. Because no matter how carefully you try to exist, someone will find fault with it. It’s a rigged game. You can’t win. 

The truth is, most people don’t see you. They see their expectations. Their insecurities. Their biases. And then they project. 

And I was so fucking tired of carrying it all. 

I was exhausted from folding myself into versions that made other people comfortable. Tired of second-guessing every instinct, every decision, every part of me that didn’t fit neatly into someone else’s idea of who I should be. Sick of carrying the weight of everyone else’s opinions. 

So I put it all down. 

I stopped explaining myself. I stopped trying to make myself smaller. I stopped believing that if I could just get it right, they would finally approve. 

But there is no right. 

No matter what I do, someone will disapprove. Someone will misunderstand. Someone will twist it into whatever fits their narrative. The difference now is that I know it’s not my problem. I know who I am, I know what I stand for, and I know that the only approval that actually matters is my own. Because when you truly know yourself, the empty words of others lose their power. 

They can call me anything, but they don’t define me. If being myself means being misunderstood, so be it. The people who matter never want me watered down, and if they do, they never really wanted me in the first place. They wanted their version of me, and I’m proud to say she doesn’t live here anymore.