“It’s because you’re Italian.”

That was the justification for everything among my friend group when it came to my idiosyncrasies.

“You’re loud because you’re Italian!” “You talk a lot because you’re Italian!” “You use your hands when you speak because you’re Italian!” “You like to eat lots of pasta because you’re Italian!”

Okay, the last one is probably true. For years, this is what I allowed myself to believe. I always saw these things as problems that needed fixing, but they became more permissible and tolerable because of my heritage. I always knew somewhere in the back of my mind that I spoke too loud or too much. But, hey, I thought. It’s because I’m Italian. So it’s okay.

But that was not the case.

I should not have been apologizing for who I am. I should not have given my heritage the credit for the social survival skills I have adopted over the years. I should not have used the excuse “Oh, sorry, I’m Italian…” when I was told I was talking too loud. I should not have said “Well, blame it on my great grandmother, straight out of Italy!” When people mocked my erratic hand movements that I used when I spoke. I should not have been laughing it off as a joke that could not be helped.

I am loud because that is how I evolved in order to make myself heard. I talk a lot because I have a lot to say and that is the only way I know how to take and maintain control of a conversation; to speak for as long as possible before someone stops listening or interrupts me. I talk with my hands because it helps me think and express my emotions because believe it or not, even people that wear their hearts on their sleeve sometimes have trouble expressing themselves.

I take up a lot of space. That much is apparent. I take up a lot of space because that is how I survive. It is how I rebel. We, as women, are told all our lives to be quieter. To take up less space. To listen and think before we speak. We are told that our mistakes may condemn us for life, while our male counterparts are told “accidents happen.” We are made fun of all the time for never shutting up, but do you ever think if they were to take their own advice every once in a while, they would start to see how quiet the world would be?

I’ve spent my entire life apologizing for taking up more space than you think I deserved to. I’ve spent my entire life being told that my quirks and my personality needed an excuse. I always thought that my existence needed a scapegoat of some kind. I could never just exist.

I always needed something to blame myself on.

I am told there’s too much of me because there is. I am told I am too loud because I am. I am told I talk too much because I do. And there is nothing wrong with that. There is nothing wrong with the amount of space I take up. I am a human being, of course I take up space! Everything in the universe takes up space! You don’t hear people telling the stars that they’re too bright and noticeable. You don’t hear people yelling at an ocean for being too loud. You don’t hear people telling mountains that they’re too big. You don’t hear people telling Redwood trees that they’re branches stretch out too far.

I am made of the same pieces of the universe that the stars are made of. I am as beautiful and colorful as a Nebula. I am as hot and bright as a white dwarf. I am a beacon of light and I churn with the same molten possibility as a supernova. I am a black hole. The gravity of my words are so strong that you can't help but gravitate towards me. Light bends around me. You are helpless if you get too close.

I am an ocean. I am as wide, and mysterious, and warm, and deep as the Pacific. I am as cold, and vast, and beautiful and dangerous as the Atlantic. I have graveyards of sunken ships in the deepest parts of my soul. No one that enters into my storm makes it out alive. I am a hurricane. I leave destruction in my wake and who knows what will wash onto shore during my high tide.

I am a mountain. I tower over your standards because I am above them. I cannot bow down to your commands because I do not bend. I am steadfast. There is so much of me, that you will need dynamite to get through me and even if you do, I will still stand. I will still be as large as I was before. Not even dynamite can tear a mountain down completely.

I am a Redwood tree. I am protected and loved and cherished. My branches stretch out as wide as I can reach. I grow, and grow, and grow, and no one is going to stop me from seeing just how far my arms can go. My roots are planted firmly in the earth while my head grows skyward with my aspirations.

I am a force of nature. I am destructive, beautiful, and unstoppable. I am uncontrollable.

I am guilty of only one thing: being a creation that refuses to allow myself to be seen as anything less than something to be reckoned with.

I take up a lot of space. My psyche is a mile wide. I walk into a room, and things get crowded all of a sudden. There’s practically two of me. I carry enough personality for two people, but I never act like more than one person. I lace my words with charm and stitch them together with charisma. I use my body as a fortress. My hands are used as a wall to make you keep your distance. I am a force to be reckoned with, and you should absolutely be afraid of me.