I don’t apologise for taking up space any more. I notice it as I’m getting into a cab on Monday afternoon and tell the man I’m about to sit next to, very pointedly, that he’s going to have close his legs.
I’m not sorry about it. Not about the fact that I’m “disturbing” his cab ride, not about the fact that I can’t slip in undetected and certainly not about the space my thighs and bum take up.
I’m not sorry any more.
But I used to be.
I’m not sure when I stopped, but I have a good idea when and how it started.
After years of internalising that the only time a woman is feminine and beautiful is when she’s petite, dainty, just small enough to fit under an arm or on a lap, I started believing that the only way I could exist tall, big and bold, was to be apologetic about it.
I went through life apologising.
“Sorry” as I shimmied my way down the aisle of the school bus. “Sorry” as I navigated knees and feet in a church pew. “Sorry” as I made my way through a packed club.
Careful, as anyone would – or rather should – be, not to tread on toes or be the reason a drink spills, but more than that, careful not to take up too much space. Careful not to be an inconvenience.
Now? I don’t care that my long legs and big bum mean I need more space when sitting at the back of a car, I don’t care that you have to move a little more, make a little more space for me when I’m passing by, I don’t care if you’re annoyed.
I’m not sorry for taking up space, for being here. Not any more.
And this newfound unapologetic nature?
It’s been passed on to every other sphere of my life too.
Friendships. Relationships. A budding romance, in particular.
I’m not afraid to say what I want any more.
I’m not ashamed to tell the man who likes me that I like romance. It doesn’t make me feel silly or childish to tell him that I want to be wooed. For the first time in my life, I don’t have to pretend to be less, to want less, in order to be wanted.
I’ve become unapologetic about the way I want to be courted, want to be treated, want to be loved.
I tell my best friend Whitney about it on Sunday morning and I’m hit by another revelation.
I realise that I want what I want, and that if I don’t get it from him, it won’t feel like a failure.
It won’t mean there’s something wrong with me, that I want to much, that I am too much.
It will mean that I want what I want and that he can’t give it to me.
It will mean that I’m great and he’s great too but that we’re not great together and that will be that.
This… unapologetic-ness? It feels like coming into my own. It feels like freedom. It feels good.
Stay informed with The Namibian – your source for credible journalism. Get in-depth reporting and opinions for
only N$85 a month. Invest in journalism, invest in democracy –
Subscribe Now!