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By OK Tease Co.
# You Don't Need Permission to Exist Loudly Somewhere along the way, you started shrinking. Not physically—though maybe that too—but in the way you ente...
You Don't Need Permission to Exist Loudly
Somewhere along the way, you started shrinking. Not physically—though maybe that too—but in the way you enter rooms, voice opinions, or simply exist without explanation. The constant "sorry" when someone bumps into you. The automatic "I'm probably wrong, but..." before sharing an idea you've thought about for weeks. The way you tuck yourself into corners at gatherings, making yourself smaller so others have more room.
This isn't humility. It's a survival strategy you picked up somewhere, and it's time to unlearn it.
Start paying attention to how often you apologize in a single day. Not the legitimate apologies—the ones where you actually wronged someone—but the reflexive ones. The "sorry" you add to emails before making a reasonable request. The apology for having a question during a meeting. The way you say sorry for existing in a checkout line that someone else crowded into.
Most women discover they apologize somewhere between 15-30 times daily for things that require zero apology. That's a lot of unnecessary permission-seeking packed into ordinary hours.
Try this: For one week, catch yourself mid-apology and ask, "Did I actually do something wrong here?" If the answer is no, practice swallowing the sorry. It'll feel uncomfortable, even rude at first. That discomfort is the point—it means you're rewiring something deep.
Nobody wakes up one day and decides to make themselves small. This pattern usually has roots. Maybe you grew up in a household where taking up space meant conflict. Maybe a relationship taught you that your needs were inconvenient. Maybe workplace dynamics trained you to pad every statement with qualifiers so you'd seem "likeable" instead of "aggressive."
None of this was your fault. But recognizing where it came from helps you see it for what it is: an outdated protection mechanism. The situations that required you to shrink probably don't exist anymore. You're still playing by rules from a game that ended years ago.
The woman you're becoming doesn't need those rules.
Watch how you sit in public spaces. Are your legs crossed tight, arms pulled in, belongings stacked in your lap to take up minimal room? Now watch men in the same spaces. Legs spread, arms draped, belongings claiming adjacent seats without a second thought.
This isn't about manspreading or gender wars. It's about recognizing that you've been conditioned to compress yourself physically, and that physical compression reinforces mental compression.
Practice taking up your actual size. Sit with both feet on the floor. Let your arms rest on armrests—yes, both of them. Put your bag on the seat next to you on a half-empty train. Walk down the middle of the sidewalk instead of hugging the edge.
You'll feel like you're being obnoxious. You're not. You're being normal. The discomfort you feel is just unfamiliarity with occupying the space you're entitled to.
"I might be wrong, but..." "This is probably a stupid question..." "I'm not an expert, however..." "Sorry to bother you, but..." "I just think maybe..."
These phrases don't make you sound humble. They signal to everyone—including yourself—that your thoughts don't deserve full weight. They invite dismissal before you've even finished speaking.
Replace them with nothing. Just... say the thing. "I think we should try a different approach." "I have a question about the timeline." "I need this by Friday." Full stop. No softening, no apology, no pre-emptive self-deprecation.
The first few times you speak without qualifiers, you might feel exposed. Like you're being too direct, too much, too demanding. That feeling is lying to you. You're just being clear.
Somewhere, someone probably told you—or showed you through their reaction—that you were too much. Too loud. Too emotional. Too ambitious. Too intense. Too needy. Too confident.
Here's what they didn't tell you: "too much" always means "too much for me." It's a statement about their capacity, not your worth. People who can't handle your fullness aren't your people.
The women I know who stopped apologizing for taking up space discovered something unexpected: they didn't lose the relationships that mattered. The friendships that survived were actually stronger because they became more honest. The ones that crumbled? Those were being held together by your shrinking. They were never really yours.
When you stop apologizing for existing, something shifts in how you present yourself to the world. Including literally—what you put on your body.
The woman who believes she deserves space doesn't hide in neutrals and safe choices. She wears what resonates with who she actually is. A message across her chest that says something she means. Colors that match her energy, not her desire to blend in. Clothes that fit her actual body instead of the body she thinks she should apologize for having.
Your wardrobe becomes an extension of your refusal to shrink. Winter 2026 is the perfect season to build a closet that speaks—cozy pieces that wrap you in intention, statement tees layered under jackets, hats that crown instead of hide.
You have permission to take up space. To have needs. To voice opinions without disclaimers. To exist at full volume. To change your mind. To hold boundaries without lengthy justifications. To want things. To be ambitious. To rest. To be visible.
You've always had this permission. You just forgot, or someone convinced you otherwise.
Stop waiting for the world to grant you something you already possess. Walk into the room like you belong there—because you do.