“You’ll be sorry, ” she said.
I doubt it. Not this time.
There are loads of things I am sorry about, but not this.
I’m sorry that there are people in the world who have to struggle every day for basic needs, like food and clean, safe drinking water.
I’m sorry that there are women who lie down each night in fear for their children, their homes, and their own bodies.
I’m sorry I don’t have the money or time or other resources to make it better for more of them, although I am glad I can help a few.
I’m sorry that there are people who suffer in the heat and cold for all the reasons and excuses there are for that. I’m glad, though, that I can knit a few things that may help keep someone just a little warmer, and that I have a bag full of hats now waiting to be sorted through and sent to Afghans for Afghans in the next few days.
I’m sorry that I’ve wasted so much time thinking so little of myself, and failing to care for myself adequately.
I’m sorry for being a virtual recluse for so many years.
I’m sorry that I have a predisposition toward depression and that, having let it go untreated in the past, I’ve lost years of my life.
I’m sorry that my experiences with churches and a cult-like group left me so battered and scarred and often mistrustful.
I’m sorry I had to get bifocals at 25, that my hair started turning noticeably gray at 30, and that I’m now such close friends with BenGay.
I’m sorry as hell that I’m not with the man I love.
But I’m not sorry for knowing who I am and what my limits are.
I’m not sorry for knowing I don’t have time for certain people in my life, because they suck the life and color and joy out of me.
I’m not sorry for sticking with my decision.
I’m not sorry for saying “no.” Not this time.