You Do Not Have to Explain Yourself to Be Worthy

Breaking Free from Justification, Embracing Boundaries, and Reclaiming Your Power

*Special thanks to

Wild Lion*esses Pride from Jay

for this beautiful piece*

The towering Seven Sisters cliffs near Seaford, England rise against the storm, untouched by the shifting tides below. They do not ask permission to exist; they simply are—solid, grounded, unshaken. Like them, we too can reclaim space without justification. Photo: Jay Siegmann

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A dramatic view of the white chalk cliffs of the Seven Sisters near Seaford, set against a stormy sky. Waves crash on the pebble beach below, while distant figures walk along the shoreline, evoking a sense of quiet strength and unwavering presence.Photo: Jay Siegmann

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For 46 years, I lived within the constraints of self-justification—trapped by the need to be seen a certain way, the belief that I was either better than or worse than others, and the quiet resentment of feeling I deserved more. These unconscious patterns shaped my decisions, relationships, and sense of self, reinforcing the oppression I had internalized. Through Nonviolent Communication (NVC) and mediation, I began to see how the way I spoke to myself shaped my actions, either keeping me stuck or allowing me to grow.

The History and Roots of Self-Justification

The need to justify myself did not arise in isolation. It is woven into historical systems of hierarchy, patriarchy, and dominance—structures that have long dictated who is granted inherent worth and who must prove their right to exist. Supremacist ideologies—whether based on race, gender, class, or other artificial hierarchies—have shaped societies by enforcing the belief that power is not meant to be shared but wielded over others.

Those who designed and benefit from these hierarchies move through the world without the burden of justification. Their status confers automatic legitimacy. In contrast, those of us in non-dominant populations—women, people of color, LGBTQ+ individuals, disabled people, and others marginalized by systemic structures—have been conditioned to explain, defend, and seek permission for our existence.

Patriarchy, as a foundation of these structures, has reinforced compliance, deference, and servitude as measures of worth. Women and gender-nonconforming individuals, in particular, are socialized to appease, to soften, to justify every action to avoid rejection or punishment. Capitalism amplifies this conditioning, linking survival to productivity and external validation. The myth of meritocracy suggests that hard work ensures success, yet systemic barriers ensure that only those already within dominant structures truly reap its rewards.

From an early age, I learned that my worth was contingent on meeting expectations I had no hand in setting. I watched as people in power moved freely, never asking for permission, while those on the margins had to explain every action, every deviation from the norm, every choice that might inconvenience or disrupt the status quo. Justification became my survival mechanism.

The Justification Boxes We Build

I carried my justification boxes like an overloaded backpack—each one filled with reasons why I had to be who I thought I was supposed to be. One box held the belief that relentless effort was the only path to worth. Another whispered that if I wasn’t exceptional, I was nothing. The heaviest of them all was the conviction that I had to explain myself, defend my existence, and seek validation before daring to take up space.

I was not born believing I needed to justify myself. That belief was taught—through disapproving glances when I spoke too loudly, through expectations of performance when I sought love, through the unspoken rule that my worth was tied to my usefulness. Society rewards compliance and punishes deviation. Families, workplaces, and institutions reinforce these messages, often without realizing the harm they inflict.

For many of us, trauma plays a defining role in constructing these boxes. When rejection, abandonment, or punishment come not from what we do but from who we are, we learn to mold ourselves into acceptability. Hyper-vigilance takes hold—we anticipate needs, preempt reactions, minimize our presence or overcompensate, always proving, always explaining. These patterns become so ingrained that we stop seeing them, even as they dictate our every move.

These boxes shaped my interactions. When someone misunderstood me, I over-explained. When I felt unseen, I performed. When I feared judgment, I armored myself with intellect or humor. Every response was a negotiation, a way to remain within an acceptable frame, to sidestep disapproval at all costs. I became a master of anticipating reactions, adjusting my words and behaviors before others even had a chance to form an opinion. It was exhausting.

Some boxes were built from childhood expectations; others took shape in professional spaces where justification was demanded at every turn. Society reinforced them, especially for people like me—those taught that speaking up required a rational, airtight defense. If I couldn’t justify my choices convincingly, I assumed they were invalid. The pressure to be palatable, to be agreeable, to be understood at all times weighed me down like stones I had unknowingly collected for decades.

Yet what happens when the weight of these boxes becomes unbearable? When the need for justification consumes more energy than the act of simply being? I reached that point. I had lived so long explaining myself that I had forgotten how to exist without permission.

The Shift: From Justification to Presence

My first breakthrough came through language—not in what I said to others, and in how I spoke to myself. I had spent years negotiating my right to feel, to need, to be. So I stopped.

I started with small experiments. Instead of saying, “I deserve rest because I’ve worked hard,” I tried, “I deserve rest, period.” Instead of explaining why I made a certain choice, I let it stand. Instead of justifying a boundary, I set it without preamble.

It was uncomfortable. Silence where I once filled space with reasons. Simplicity where I once built fortresses of explanation. Yet something surprising happened: the world didn’t fall apart. People didn’t demand justifications as often as I had assumed. And when they did, I realized their expectations were not my responsibility to fulfill.

As I practiced this new way of being, I discovered something unexpected: the rejection didn’t stop, yet it felt different. The energy I had spent crafting justifications was no longer wasted on people who were unwilling to listen. I still encountered resistance, people who were deeply attached to their conditioning, unwilling to question their assumptions. And yet, by staying in my own experience, speaking only for myself, I no longer engaged in futile attempts to convince.

I found clarity in rejecting other people’s positions as true for me. When I stated clearly that I was worried, uncomfortable, or felt disrespected, and the person disregarded or dismissed my feelings entirely, I walked away. I disconnected—not out of avoidance, but from a place of certainty. If they could not acknowledge my experience, that was their limitation, not mine. I was no longer willing to exhaust myself trying to pull people into awareness who resisted change, self-reflection, or admitting they may have made a mistake.

This was the shift: I had moved from constantly proving my right to exist to simply existing. And that, in itself, was enough.

The lighthouse stands firm on the rugged cliffs of Land’s End, Cornwall, England, a beacon of resilience against the vast, untamed sea. A reminder that boundaries, like the cliffs, are not barriers but markers of self-respect, holding space without apology.

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A white lighthouse perched on the steep cliffs of Land’s End, overlooking a deep blue ocean. The rocky coastline and vast horizon symbolize endurance, self-worth, and the power of standing strong without justification.

The Power of Boundaries Without Justification

Boundaries terrified me at first. I had spent decades equating boundaries with rejection.

If I said no, wouldn’t that make me unlikable?

If I didn’t explain why I couldn’t meet a request, wouldn’t people think I was selfish?

And yet, for much of my life, I wasn’t even in a position to set boundaries—because I had no self to set them for. My sense of self had been exiled. Without it, there were no needs to protect, no limits to enforce. I was completely dissociated, existing in a space where boundaries weren’t just difficult—they were unfathomable. There was no internal compass, no felt sense of ”this is too much for me”. I could comply, I could endure, I could function—but I couldn’t ‘feel’ what I needed.

Prentis Hemphill writes, “Boundaries are the distance at which I can love you and me simultaneously.” Yet for me, there was no “me” to measure that distance. My body moved through the world, adapting to others, shaping itself around their expectations, without an internal core to push back.

Brené Brown speaks of boundaries as an act of self-worth. Yet my sense of worth had never taken root. Gabor Maté describes how trauma disconnects us from our own sensations, our own knowing. And Stephen Porges' Polyvagal Theory explains how, when the body has learned that safety depends on submission, boundaries feel like a threat. I wasn’t afraid of setting boundaries—I simply couldn’t. I had been shaped to believe that my existence was conditional on being available, being useful, being good.

And then, slowly, something shifted. As I reclaimed the parts of me that had been lost, I also began to reclaim a felt sense of no. Not as an intellectual concept, not as a rehearsed script, but as something I could experience in my body. It started small—an unease, a tightness, a sense of pulling away. And then the words followed, stripped of justification: “I won’t be able to do that”. ”I need space.”

The world kept turning. The people who valued me still did. And I was finally able to breathe.

For me, boundaries weren’t just about learning to say no. They were about recovering the one who had the right to say it.

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