When is Too Much Too Much?
One misstep, one word too forceful, and I plummet into the abyss of whispered judgment.
I am a tightrope walker, forever balancing on the razor’s edge between “assertive” and “aggressive,” between “confident” and “arrogant.”
“She’s just… too much.”
Those words. God, how I’ve come to loathe them. They cling to me like a second skin, an unwanted armour I can never seem to shed. Too loud, too opinionated, too passionate. The litany of my supposed shortfalls echoes in the silence after every meeting, in the sideways glances and the subtle distancing of colleagues.
But what is the alternative? To shrink myself, to become a pale imitation of the fire that burns within me? I’ve tried that path before, trodden it until my soul was bare and my voice a mere whisper.
Never again.
I remember the day I first dared to speak up, really speak up, in a meeting. The room fell silent, a vacuum of discomfort that threatened to swallow me whole. But in that silence, I heard something else — the thunderous beating of my own heart, alive and unafraid.
It’s a tightrope, yes, but it’s my tightrope. And with each step, each carefully chosen word, I’m learning to walk upon it.
There are days when the fear still grips me, when I worry that I will be “too much”. On those days, I reach out to my deepest core hoping to find some encouragement, drowning out the doubts that threaten to consume me.
“Take up space,” the voices tell me. “Your voice matters.”
And slowly, so slowly, I begin to believe them.
Assertiveness isn’t about dominating others, but about honouring yourself — the voice tells me. It is about setting boundaries that protect your energy and your worth. It is about saying “no” without apology and “yes” with enthusiasm.
The journey is far from over. There are still meetings where I leave feeling drained, questioning every word I’ve spoken. There are still colleagues who view my assertiveness as a threat rather than an asset. Somehow I find that I am able to let go of those moments. I spoke what needed to be spoken.
But this battle… isn’t confined to office buildings. The struggle to speak out and speak what I truly feel, to not silence myself, follows me beyond the workplace. It seeps into every thread of my personal relationships like a stubborn stain that won’t wash out.
“You’re just… intense,” he said, his words a gentle knife twisting in my gut.
We were curled up on the couch, the remnants of a heated discussion hanging in the air between us. I had dared to express my needs, to lay bare the depth of my feelings. And there it was again — that familiar, suffocating label.
Too much. Too intense. Too everything!
The words echoed in my mind, a painful reminder of all the times I’d been told to tone it down, to be less. This wasn’t just about me being “too much.” How can it be? It is making me doubt my own perceptions, my own needs.
“It is as if you were gaslighting me”, I slowly replied, the words leaving my lips before I could stop them.
In that moment, I felt the old urge to retreat, to smooth my jagged edges and become the soft, pliable version of myself that seems so much easier to love. But as I looked into his eyes, searching for judgment, I saw something else entirely — I saw concern, and I saw fear.
What is that? Hundreds of thoughts race through my head. Is it concern for me? Is it worry that I have spoken the unspeakable? Fear of the raw, unfiltered truth of who I am? Fear of a love that demands reciprocity, that refuses to settle for crumbs of affection. Fear of a woman who knows her worth and dares to claim it?
And in that fear, I recognised a mirror of my own. How long had I been afraid of my own intensity, my own capacity for love and passion? How many times had I dimmed my light to make others more comfortable with my glow?
“Yes,” I said, my voice steady despite the trembling in my heart. “I am intense. I love fiercely, I feel deeply, and I won’t apologise for that.”
“You know I will never leave you”, was the reply I heard. “I know you care.. you care too much”.
The words hung between us, a source of comfort, an affirmation, and an invitation — an acceptance of all of me — the fire and the softness, the strength and the vulnerability. A love not in spite of my intensity, but because of it. And an invitation for me to accept all of myself and love myself because of my intensity.
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
All my past relationships didn’t survive this assertiveness. They crumbled under the weight of authenticity, unable to withstand the force of a woman fully embracing her power. But some… some will blossom. They will grow deeper, and richer, nourished by the fertile soil of honesty and mutual respect.
I began to see parallels with my professional life. The courage to be authentic, to express my needs and boundaries, can reshape my approach to workplace dynamics. Colleagues who viewed my assertiveness as a threat may be like the partners who couldn’t handle my intensity. And just as I had found deeper connections with those who appreciated my authentic self, I can foster more genuine, productive relationships with coworkers who value my passionate contributions.
How?
Principles of honest, and respectful communication that had strengthened my personal relationships. Authenticity, with empathy and respect, is not just acceptable but invaluable. So, I learn. I learn to express my ideas with conviction while creating space for others to do the same.
I am still learning, still growing, still finding the delicate balance between too much and not enough. But I am not afraid of the power of my own voice, whether in the boardroom or the bedroom.
To all those who’ve been told they are “too much” — your fire is not a flaw. Speak your truth, set your boundaries, and know that you are gloriously, unapologetically enough.
Just as you are.
