Sorry, Not Sorry.

The more I understood about the value of amends, the more I started to understand the value of an authentic apology.

When I was in first grade, my class would gather together on Monday mornings to talk about what we did over the weekend. There was a little girl who said the same thing every week, “I went to Indianapolis.” Every week. I didn’t know what Indianapolis was, or where it was, but I thought she was lying. We lived in New York City. Whatever this “Indianapolis” was, I didn’t think it was possible she was going every week. It sounded so far away, so foreign. Finally, after weeks of hearing her say “I went to Indianapolis,” I couldn’t stand it anymore. I blurted out, “You’re lying!” My outburst and anger took me by surprise. I was a nice kid.

Then the whole class turned to look at me, jaws dropped, eyes wide. My teacher scolded me, saying “Nancy, you need to apologize!” She was a very gentle person with a soft, soothing voice. But not that day. I guess it took her by surprise, too. I shrank down in my seat and tried to disappear. I could feel shame spread through me like a surge of sudden fever. I mumbled a quick apology, and the class moved on, the school day continued. I’m sure I was forgiven, but I had trouble forgiving myself.

One of the hardest things for me to do when I was a kid was to apologize when I’d done something wrong. I’d dig my heels in and I would feel my whole body tighten up, my muscles frozen. I’d get really quiet, my jaw clamped shut. My throat would close and my mouth dried out.

I was a mostly well-behaved kid because I never wanted anyone to be mad at me, so I was hypervigilant about everything. So, when I did do something that deserved an apology, it felt like the world was ending. Especially if my behavior had something to do with hurting someone’s feelings. It was extra embarrassing to hurt someone’s feelings because I knew how painful it was to be on the receiving end. I didn’t like myself at all in those moments. I felt unforgivable. I didn’t understand that I could say I was sorry and life would carry on. I didn’t understand that I would still be loved. That I wouldn’t be forever branded as a terrible, horrible person.

I would feel tears well up inside me, pressure building behind my eyes. I was determined not to cry. If I didn’t say anything I knew my tears wouldn’t come. And thanks to some very sophisticated magical thinking, I was sure that if I didn’t acknowledge my wrong-doing, if I didn’t speak, my infraction wouldn’t exist. Those were the rules I made up in my head. Apologies = pain. Apologies = shame. Apologies were admissions that I was worthless, not just in that moment, but forever and ever. A life-long sentence. There would be no forgiveness. That’s some pretty extreme black and white thinking for a 7-year-old.

But somewhere along the way, as I grew up, my discomfort apologizing morphed into apologizing for things I had no reason to be sorry for. I had models for this behavior. I witnessed grown women apologizing for things they hadn’t done, all the time. My mother, my aunts, my teachers. The cashier at the supermarket. “I’m sorry” was as common as exhaling. Maybe it was some weird shortcut women used to keep life moving along. To avoid conflict, because conflict was hard and uncomfortable, and apologizing was more efficient. It was easier to claim blame than to see things for what they really were. It was easier than challenging established norms. Women have been apologizing since Eve ate that apple.

I started apologizing for everything. EVERYTHING. Didn’t even matter if I’d actually done something wrong. I’d even say I was sorry for things that had nothing to do with me. If I apologized robotically, I didn’t have to feel anything at all. I didn’t have to give myself time to assess what the apology was for. Or to realize that I had nothing at all to apologize for.

I know a woman who said that sometimes she’ll bump into an object like a table or a chair, and the first thing that pops out of her mouth is, “I’m sorry!” The saddest thing about that? I understood exactly what she was saying. Another woman I’m friends with apologizes when people bump into her. Ooof. “Oh, I’m sorry! Please forgive me. I must be in your way.”

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s automatic. “I’m sorry for existing, for breathing, for taking up space.” Saying I’m sorry erupts from me without thought. That “sorry” jumps right out of me before I have time to shut my mouth. Do I do this because I’m a woman? Most likely. Our culture trains women by osmosis to perceive ourselves as smaller, less worthy, and more flawed than men. Oh, Eve, I’m sure that apple was delicious. I’m grateful you took that bite, but I guess some of the boys weren’t ready to share.

Through the work I’m doing in my 12 Step program and in therapy I’ve uncovered what has been the source of my relentless spontaneous quasi-remorse. Codependency. Because I felt guilty about things that didn’t warrant my guilt, I took everything on. Everyone’s needs came before mine. 

As a tween and teen, I was a peacekeeper. I accommodated the people in my world in any way I could so that life would feel calm and safe. I appointed myself rescuer, problem solver, and soother-in-chief because I wanted everyone to be happy. I thought I could smooth rough situations by accepting blame for things that had nothing to do with me. And similar to my experiences as a young child, I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone being mad at me. I was this way with my dad, especially.  He was an exceptionally moody guy for all kinds of reasons that had nothing to do with me. But I always assumed that his bad moods were my fault.

I repeated this pattern with romantic partners, and bosses, and friends, and even near-strangers. Whatever you need, my dear, I’m here for you. If someone was angry, I’d apologize without understanding or taking the time to understand what I was apologizing for. I’d jump right in with my emotional first-aid kit and do damage control, even when none was needed. If intimate partners said they wanted to discuss something with me, my immediate internal reaction was “What did I do this time?”

Head ‘em off at the pass. Jump right in there and take the fall. For what? Don’t know! But that didn’t matter, as long as everyone was okay. Except me. I didn’t matter as much as the rest of the world. Of course, no one was telling me that. Except me. My apologies were reflexes. The expression “I’m sorry” lost all meaning. Apologizing became a way of shutting down conflict.

When I started doing the Steps with my sponsor, I had tremendous anxiety about the steps where we’re asked to do a written inventory of our negative behaviors toward people in our lives. The next step is to tell our sponsor about those behaviors, and consequently make appropriate amends to each person we’d harmed, unless it would cause even more harm. My childhood fears began to peek through. All kinds of shame came up for me…before I even started making amends to people. What if they hated me? Or never spoke to me again? I felt sure if I admitted that I did something wrong, my world would implode.  

The more I understood about the value of amends, the more I started to understand the value of an authentic apology. I realized that if my behavior went unacknowledged, not only was I ripping myself off, because I wasn’t living within my integrity, I was also taking something important away from the other person. A feeling of validation. Of having an honest relationship. Not only did I value myself by acknowledging my missteps, I was respecting and valuing the person I’d wronged. I began to understand that I have no power over another person’s reactions. That I can only be responsible for myself.

The day I met with my sponsor to do my 5^th Step was life-changing. I told her the “exact nature of my wrongs” as they say in Program. I’ve been in and out of therapy for many years, and though I’ve prided myself in being honest with all of my practitioners, I don’t think I was ever completely honest. I left things out, mostly due to shame.

When I did my 5^th step, I made a very conscious, though wobbly, choice to tell all of it. My sponsor received everything I told her with respect and compassion. I didn’t feel an ounce of judgement coming from her. I admitted things that I’ve perceived as absolutely inexcusable behaviors, and she just heard me. It felt safe for me to apologize. I didn’t even cry.

The other side of an apology might be forgiveness, but there are no guarantees. I realized and accepted that just because I apologize or make amends does not mean I will be forgiven.

One day, I was in my meeting, and someone shared a phrase that blew it all out of the water for me: “Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway.”

That was the missing piece for me. It felt like my heart opened and the heaviness I sometimes feel when I’m not letting my true self live just lifted. It was a HUZZAH! moment. It was a moment of freedom and self-forgiveness. It was the moment where I finally understood, deeply, what forgiveness is and what an authentic apology is. I felt the power of healing and grace.

Recovery is giving me the resources to see situations more clearly, to be honest, to stand in my worth as a person. I’m learning to apologize when appropriate––whatever the consequences––and to keep my mouth shut when it’s none of my business. I’m beginning to stand up for myself when someone wrongs me. I’m finally not trying to rescue anyone. I mind my own side of the street, and it feels great. And I see no need to apologize for that!

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