Nice.

I delivered a sassy zinger to my mom the other day—so sassy that she had no snappy comeback for it. She thought it was hilarious. She also seemed to be strangely delighted a couple of weeks ago when I called her all wrapped around the axle about something. A couple of days later my mom confessed that she was a little worried I was becoming “nice.” Nice was not meant as a compliment in this context. I think what she meant was that she was worried that by doing my own work and not letting stuff bug me so much that I might lose my edge—my sass. That I might become this super mellow and really boring “nice” person.

Not a f*#&ing chance.

Doing my own work allows me to unapologetically be who I am. And because I am being authentically me and not pleasing others, sometimes that means not being “nice.” It might mean telling someone no when they really would like to hear yes, backing out of a commitment because it’s not right for me, or gasp! not buying someone’s “poor me” story. It also means laughing a ton, respecting myself and taking my sass to a whole new level.

So don’t worry mom—all is well.