This is an open letter I’ve been wanting to write for a few weeks. I hesitate to say that it’s a letter to “haters.” It’s more like a letter to…well…everyone. Here goes…
I. Am. Not. Sorry. I don’t feel bad that I’m awesome. I don’t feel bad that I have blond hair and blue eyes and large ta tas. I’m not sorry that I’m sexy. I will not let my appearance, which my genes dictated, determine my role in society, in life or in relationships. I’m not sorry that I’m smart. I will never apologize for being ambitious.
I do not owe you an explanation of my choices in life, just to make you feel better about your own. I am not responsible for giving you a reason to feel that choosing the safe path was the “right” thing to do. I do not have to give you an excuse as to why I choose to spend the majority of my time working, right now, building my career. I do not have to tell you why I’m okay being single in order for you to turn your insecurity about being alone into conviction that you are “normal” and therefore are “okay” whereas my differences mean I am not. Nor do I have to tolerate your fear that if you don’t have someone “right now” you never will. Because I know I will, exactly right on time. If you can’t see that about yourself and suffer negative consequences as a result, it is, respectfully, not my problem.
It’s not my job to coddle your choices. Or be humble about mine so that you sleep better at night. I will not make myself martyr to the status quo in order to dignify it. I don’t have to shuffle my feet and bow my head and pretend that I am not proud of who I am and what I have achieved and what I will achieve, so that you can go on living in blissful ignorance about your lack of satisfaction regarding your own achievement(s).
But I will say this, as a favor to you: There is nothing in the world that I have experienced, no traveling, no sex, no lover, no outfit, car, house, expensive meal, that compares to the exhilaration that comes from doing what I love and giving credence to my ideas. There is nothing more satisfying than realizing your income is ultimately up to you and what you make, you do truly earn. There is no amount of money that I would accept for doing someone else’s grunt work day in and day out, indefinitely, just to feel safe. And I am not sorry about that. So in the immortal words of Madonna, “I am not your bitch. Don’t put your shit on me.”