New York City is not the place to be slow, be apologetic, or be in the way. I find myself saying sorry to people as I weave back and forth to get to work on time and simply just being a part of the NYC native crew pretending to be native crew: getting where I want, when I want. But New York is not an apologetic place:

The cab driver that almost hit me as I tried to cross the street didn’t lean out of the window and apologize, the man that swung his backpack and hit me and another woman getting out of the subway didn’t apologize, and the man that didn’t make room for me on the elevator didn’t apologize.

So why am I constantly apologizing for taking up space?

Is it New York City that doesn’t apologize, or is it me that apologizes too much?

I had never thought about it until this morning when I was in a McDonald’s getting my breakfast. I’ve learned the NYC etiquette of knowing what you want, having your payment ready, and moving to the side. When it’s 9:30 in the morning and everyone wants to get their breakfast before work just like you, you do your job of moving to the side and getting out of the way.

As I moved to the side, an older woman was trying to cut through and I was in her way. I said, “Oh, I’m sorry,” and she grabbed my arm.

“We as women do not need to say sorry,” she said to me. She looked at me with eyes that emphasized how much she meant this.

“That’s true, sorry about --,” I replied. And I caught myself, just at the same time her upset expression at me deepened.

“We don’t apologize for taking up space!” she yelled at me in an encouraging way. I had just apologized to her for existing, for standing in a place I deserved to be. I was doing no harm in standing. I was doing no harm in being myself but yet I apologized.

And those five letters, that little word, had come from my mouth on way too many occasions. I’ve said sorry for talking too much, for making plans, for asserting myself, for having emotions, for being in the way, for stepping on people’s toes, for having my strong opinions.

“Sorry” is what I instantly shout when I feel as if I’m just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’ve said sorry to inanimate projectors I bumped into and it puts it into perspective that saying sorry doesn’t mean I’m truly apologetic for my actions as I am when I make a mistake and am genuinely saying sorry.

Sorry is every woman’s way of feeling wrong for taking up too much space.

This woman continued to talk loudly to me in McDonald’s, not caring that the whole establishment could hear her preaching to me about not being an apologetic woman. More power to her, honestly. She grabbed me and said, “How old are you?” When I replied that I was only 20 years old, she smiled and rolled her eyes and said, “I was that age about 40 years ago.”

So here I am, talking to this 60-year-old woman that’s decided to make girls like me have a more empowering day.

I laughed and she said, “God bless your soul. What’s your name?” and gave me a big hug.

I don’t know this woman, but she gave me my daily reminder for not apologizing for who I am. I have always been someone to emphasize my goals, chase my dreams, and not stop. But reiterating “sorry” to people when I talk about being in NYC for the summer, Europe for the fall, being busy with my dreams is belittling myself. This woman in McDonald’s won’t remember my name and she may not have realized how much her hug and words mean to me, but I’m tired of saying sorry for existing and being myself.

In the wise words of Queen Bey, sorry I ain't sorry.