I'm Not a Maybe Kind of Woman

I owe myself a fucking apology.

For swallowing my words. For shrinking my desires. For pretending it’s okay when it’s not.

For biting my tongue. For letting things slide. For giving chances at my own expense.

I owe myself a fucking apology for trying to be casual when there is absolutely nothing casual about me. I have tried to be the cool girl, the chill girl, the “no worries!” girl and it doesn’t work — because I’m not a girl.

I’m a woman. And I’m not a maybe kind of woman.

I’m a song you either blast at full volume or switch off immediately and that’s okay. I’m a whole meal; don’t come to the table if you’re not hungry.

I’m a fuck yes or a no.

I’m extra. I’m powerful. I’m loud and I’m fiery and I don’t do lukewarm.

Lukewarm people will tell you that you’re too intense. Too heavy. It’s because they are not strong enough to carry you.

I know what I want and I owe myself a fucking apology for taking less.

I’m sensitive. I’m sensual. And I don’t settle. I crave depth and intimacy and I love hard. I have oceans to give and when you have me, you have all of me. Every last drop.

I owe myself a fucking apology for giving it away for free. For putting it on sale.

If you owe yourself an apology too, I urge you to take up space. More space than you ever have. To allow yourself to burn for your desires and never, ever abandon yourself again.

I urge you to say too much. To say it all. To wear your heart on your sleeve because that is how you learn to love yourself.

I’m not a maybe kind of woman. And you shouldn’t be either.