Reclaiming My Right to Choose Me
I was the firstborn—
big eyes,
tender heart,
and a fierce love for Barbie dolls.
The early 2000s ones.
Sparkling gowns.
Plastic fantasy.
Little things that felt like mine.
But even then, I kept hearing it:
“Donna, you’re selfish.”
It came from the people who were supposed to love me—
my parents.
Then my teachers.
Over and over,
until the word etched itself into my skin.
To the adults who raised me—
never call a child selfish.
Correct them.
Guide them.
But don’t define them with a word
that will follow them into womanhood
like a curse.
Because it followed me.
Even now—
when I buy something small,
when I choose rest,
when I take up space,
I hear it:
selfish.
From my parents.
From my own thoughts.
From the ghost of that little girl
still gripping her Barbie
in the middle of a storm.
So I tried to disprove it.
My whole life—
I gave up what I wanted.
Silenced my needs.
Used generosity like armor.
I gave
and gave
and gave.
I bought my friend’s brother
a Coach belt.
The same man who told me
I wasn’t Zoroastrian enough
to be with.
And after dismissing my faith—
he said the only thing he wanted
was to fuck me.
He stripped me of my dignity.
Of my womanhood.
Reduced me to flesh.
And I still gave.
I paid for my ex’s museum ticket
because I didn’t want to be babied.
I wanted to show I could stand on my own.
I even bought a Christian ornament
for my ex’s ex-boss.
Thoughtfulness
from an empty cup.
And now,
I’m angry.
Not at them.
At me.
For giving to those who didn’t deserve.
For wasting love on the indifferent.
For spending money I didn’t have
to prove I wasn’t a word
I never should’ve been called.
Because generosity isn’t a flaw—
when it comes from abundance.
But I didn’t know the difference.
I gave to the undeserving.
To users.
To charmers.
To those who saw me
only through the lens of what I could offer.
So now—
when I feel that urge
to gift
to fix
to prove—
I pause.
I breathe.
And I ask myself:
✅ The Intentional Gifting Checklist
Am I financially stable?
Am I giving from love, not lack?
Does this person give back to me?
Would they love me without the gift?
Are they deserving?
Is this for a real occasion, or emotional guilt?
Could something smaller be just as kind?
Will I feel peace—or resentment—after?
If I can't check most of these—
I don’t give.
Not because I’m selfish.
But because I’m finally learning:
there’s a difference between giving from love,
and giving from fear.
Now,
I want to be selfish—
but not cruel.
I want to say no
without guilt.
Spend money on myself
without shame.
Stop explaining myself.
Stop proving my goodness
to people who never saw it anyway.
I still stumble.
Still flinch
at the sound of that word.
But I’m learning.
That choosing myself
is not a crime.
That the little girl who loved Barbie
deserved to keep her doll.
And the woman I am now—
deserves to keep her peace.
So if selfish is what they call me,
let them.
I’ve carried worse burdens than that.
And this time,
I carry it
for me.
Comments
Post a Comment