Maybe the Person I Owe an Apology to Is Me

Y’all know I tell you about my sweet, brilliant friend all the time. Tonight we were talking on Facebook Messenger, and somehow we got into this big, long conversation about two little words:

I’m sorry.

And what they actually mean.

I told her something tonight that probably sounds terrible when you first hear it:

I’m tired of being sorry.

I’m tired of apologizing when, deep down, I’m not really sorry.

Now before anybody runs with that and decides I’ve suddenly become a person who thinks she can do no wrong, calm down. We ALL know that isn’t true.

I have made mistakes. A lot of them.

I have said hateful things to my children. I have said things to my husband, my mother, and my grandmother that should have never come out of my mouth. I have reacted out of anger. I have let hurt speak for me. I have behaved in ways that I am not proud of.

And when I am wrong, I absolutely believe in saying I’m sorry.

But every day, I also try to be better than I was the day before.

And lately I’ve been asking myself something:

How many times am I apologizing for my reaction while nobody ever acknowledges what caused the hurt in the first place?

Because there is a difference.

Sometimes you can give and give and give. You can go out of your way for people. You can love them, help them, show up for them, forgive them, make excuses for them, and keep trying until you have absolutely exhausted yourself.

Then eventually, you get hurt enough that you react.

Maybe you say something you shouldn’t.

Maybe you get angry.

Maybe you finally lose your shit.

And suddenly, THAT becomes the entire story.

Nobody remembers the thousand things you did out of love. They remember the one thing you did out of hurt.

And there you are again saying, “I’m sorry.”

Tonight I told my friend, “I’m not fucking sorry anymore.”

And I meant it.

Not because I never need to apologize again. Of course I will. I’m human, and I am absolutely going to screw up again.

What I meant was that I am done apologizing for existing, for having feelings, for finally reaching my limit, or for deciding that I cannot keep giving pieces of myself away to people who do not appreciate them.

I have lived more than half of my life.

I want to spend the rest of it doing things that bring me peace instead of constantly trying to earn something from people that I may never receive.

And then my friend said something that stopped me in my tracks:

“Always think of ways to help and heal yourself instead of lashing out at those that hurt you.”

Y’all.

That one got me.

Because I realized something.

When somebody hurts me, my instinct has always been to make them understand how badly they hurt me.

I want to explain it.

I want them to see it.

Sometimes I want to yell it.

And if I’m hurt badly enough, sometimes I want to hurt them right back.

But what if they never understand?

What if they simply don’t see things the way I do?

What if I spend another five years explaining myself, defending myself, getting angry, crying, apologizing, trying harder, giving more—and absolutely nothing changes?

Then who suffers?

Me.

That’s the part I finally understand.

Lashing out at somebody who hurt me doesn’t heal me.

Getting them to admit they were wrong doesn’t heal me.

Waiting for an apology that may never come doesn’t heal me.

And destroying my own peace trying to make another person understand my pain certainly doesn’t heal me.

So maybe the work isn’t about changing them anymore.

Maybe the work is changing me.

Maybe instead of asking, “How could they do this?” I need to ask, “What can I do today to make myself healthier?”

Instead of thinking about what they should have done differently, I can think about what I can do differently next time.

Can I control my reaction?

Can I walk away sooner?

Can I stop giving after I realize giving is hurting me?

Can I set a boundary without turning it into a battle?

Can I choose kinder words even when the person standing in front of me isn’t being kind?

That doesn’t mean what someone else did was okay.

Accountability does not require me to excuse somebody else’s behavior.

Two things can be true at the same time.

Someone can hurt me, and I can still be responsible for how I respond.

That may be one of the hardest lessons I’ve ever had to learn.

I have had a lot of trauma in my life. I didn’t always have the best examples of healthy relationships or healthy ways of dealing with pain. And understanding where some of my behaviors came from has been important.

But there comes a point when your past can explain you without being allowed to excuse you.

My past is my past.

I cannot spend the rest of my life blaming other people for the person I am today.

At some point, I have to take accountability for myself.

And maybe there is one apology I actually do need to make.

Maybe I need to apologize to myself.

I’m sorry for putting you through things longer than you should have stayed in them.

I’m sorry for believing that if you just loved harder, gave more, explained yourself better, or tried one more time, somebody would finally understand you.

I’m sorry for allowing other people’s actions to determine your peace.

I’m sorry for all the times you were so busy trying to fix everybody else that you forgot you were a person worth taking care of, too.

And now?

I want to do better.

Not better so somebody will love me more.

Not better so somebody will finally appreciate me.

Not better so somebody will say, “You were right all along.”

Better for me.

I want my reactions to be better.

I want the words that come out of my mouth to be kinder.

I want to recognize when I am hurt before that hurt turns into anger.

I want to stop trying to change people who have shown me over and over again who they are.

And most importantly, I want to stop allowing somebody else’s behavior to turn me into a version of myself that I don’t like.

Because I cannot fix everybody.

I cannot make people see what they don’t want to see.

I cannot control who appreciates me, who understands me, who apologizes to me, or who never does.

But I can work on me.

And maybe that is what healing really is.

Not getting the apology.

Not winning the argument.

Not finally making somebody understand.

Maybe healing is getting to the point where you no longer need any of those things to be okay.

So tomorrow morning, instead of waking up thinking about what somebody else did wrong, I’m going to try asking myself one question:

What can I do today to become a healthier, kinder, happier version of me?

Because everybody is going through something. We may not have the same story, the same wounds, or the same struggles, but every single one of us has something.

And maybe we would all be a little better off if we spent less time trying to change the people who hurt us and a little more time healing the parts of ourselves that still hurt.

My friend gave me one sentence tonight.

I think I’m going to carry it with me for a very long time:

“Always think of ways to help and heal yourself instead of lashing out at those that hurt you.”

That doesn’t mean I’ll never say I’m sorry again.

It just means I’m finally learning that sometimes the person who needs my apology, my forgiveness, my patience, and my love the most…

is me.