Coffee Stories
Sorry, not sorry: You need to hear this
It was 5:15 a.m. this morning when I opened my laptop, wrapped my hands around my mug and sat with something that had been sitting with me since the night before.
A notification. A name. Someone from a chapter I had already closed.
I didn’t want to think about it. So I didn’t. I protected my evening, my couch, my son, our show. I put it in a little box on a high shelf and went to bed.
But this morning it was still there. And somewhere between the first sip and the second, I realized it wasn’t really about the notification at all. Here’s the thing about high shelves. When your world is already full, when you’re grieving, when everything is changing, the boxes have a way of coming down on their own. This morning they did just that. And somewhere in the middle of all of it, three words surfaced like they always do when I need them most.
Sorry, not sorry.
I didn’t come up with this on my own. The best things rarely do.
Her name is Vanessa. We met when I was fresh out of college, working my first real job as a graphic designer. Her dad worked in my department. She was a media student picking up odd jobs, and we hit it off immediately — the kind of friendship that feels like it skips the small talk and goes straight to the good stuff.
After she graduated, she moved back to Santa Monica. Her people were there. Every July, for many years, I planned a trip around her birthday week. We had adventures — the boardwalk, Venice Beach, the Ferris wheel on the Santa Monica pier and road trips to Vegas for her big day. One year I brought my kids and watched them see California for the first time through her eyes.
But the best moments were always the walks. The beach at whatever hour felt right, the wine, the kind of conversation that doesn’t have an agenda. The kind that changes you.
It was 2016. We called my trip CaliQuest. I was healing from a broken heart and quietly exploring the idea of moving to California. I was standing at a crossroads and Vanessa’s beach felt like the right place to figure out which direction to go.
It was on one of those walks when we started talking about sorry. Specifically, about why women say it for everything. For existing. For having an opinion. For taking up space in a meeting, a relationship, a room. For being too much or not enough or simply for being there. We had both been doing it our whole lives without even noticing.
Vanessa is small. Not in the way that matters, in the way that’s measured. Not quite five feet of absolute presence and certainty. She had been apologizing for things she had no business apologizing for.
And me? I had let my looks keep me small. Or rather, I had allowed them to.
Here’s the truth neither of us had said out loud before that beach: beautiful women get dismissed as surface. Plain women get overlooked. Tall women are told they’re intimidating. Every woman has a thing about her appearance that she’s been told, directly or indirectly, to apologize for. Vanessa and I were no different. We were just finally done with it.
We decided, right there on that beach, to stop.
Not perfectly. Not overnight. But we gave each other a phrase to catch ourselves with, a pattern interrupt that felt a little ridiculous at first and then started to feel like armor.
Sorry, not sorry.
It catches people off guard. That’s the point. They hear the first sorry and they relax — oh, she’s apologizing, we’re fine — and then the second lands and suddenly they’re paying attention. Suddenly you’re the one in the room who knows exactly what she’s doing.
I’ve carried this phrase for over a decade now. I’ve passed it to my daughter. I’ve passed it to women who cross my path at exactly the right moment. And this morning, sitting in my spot at 5:15 a.m., I realized it was time to put it on a mug.
Three mugs, actually.
Because Sorry + Not + Sorry isn’t one word. It’s a story. It’s a declaration. It’s the thing Vanessa and I figured out on a California beach that I am still living out loud every single day.
And if someone reads this and recognizes themselves in it, in the over-apologizing, in the smallness, in the moment they decided to stop, then this beach conversation just got a lot bigger than two women and a bottle of wine.
Sorry, not sorry. You needed to hear this.
My word stack for today:
Sorry + Not + Sorry
Sorry
[sor-ee], adjective, Origin: Old English sarig, “distressed, grieved”
A word so overused it lost its meaning, until you decided it would mean something again.
Not
[not], adverb
Origin: Old English nawiht, “nothing”
Three letters that walk into a room and flip the whole conversation upside down.
Sorry
[sor-ee], adjective
Origin: Old English sarig, “distressed, grieved”
Not sorry for my mistakes, my mess, my magic or my damn boundaries.
These mugs are part of our Coffee Stories collection – word stacks inspired by my personal journey shared in these posts. Each memoir piece becomes a stackable memory you can hold in your hands. Start your own collection and create combinations that speak to your journey.
Shop My Sanctuary Spot:
A few things that make my early morning cozy spot ritual special:
☕ Coffee Warmer – [Amazon Link] – Never let your coffee go cold again
🛋️ Heated Blanket – [Amazon link] – Lightweight warmth for cozy mornings. This is on my couch!
🎵 Morning Jazz Playlist – [YouTube link] – My go-to ambiance on a cool, NE Florida morning.
Some links are Amazon affiliate links, which means I earn a small commission if you purchase through them at no extra cost to you. I only share products I actually use and love!
