Why won't you apologize?

A few years ago, I received a message from a friend. An unusually long one, and unexpected. We’ve known each other for a long time, but our relationship has always been mostly one-sided; I would be around, always there and available, and he had a habit of disappearing for months, even years at a time. It hurt, but I’d also learned to expect it. And then, after another ghosting episode, he’d written back with an honest apology for conveniently ignoring that I am a person with a heart that can be bruised or broken. I had forgiven him long before that. I didn’t need that apology. I’d said goodbye to this relationship, to the idea of a mutual connection. And yet, this apology was, for me, one of the pivotal steps in this relationship; it offered a ground on which we could stand (auf Augenh?he) and a space to shape the friendship anew. It is maybe the most beautiful, somewhat unlikely friendship I have to this day. It could have ended so many times, and somehow, it keeps on transforming. It feels like it’s ever developing and gaining new depth as each of us grows.

Doing something wrong sucks. Especially when we’ve hurt other people. It sucks so badly that we’re often willing to sacrifice a relationship just so we wouldn’t have to admit our mistakes. We rather wither in shame.

Isn’t that sad? Yet, it happens all the time. We hesitate to call a friend, because we’ve forgotten their birthday, because we’ve been rude to them once when they told us something we did not like to hear, because we lost that wonderful book that they lent us, because we owe them money and haven’t been able to pay them back in time. It gets even worse when somebody calls us out. Holds us accountable. Our reptilian brain primary assessment interprets that as a threat, and we bring up our defenses. We disengage, we attack, we divert attention.

Even when we apologize, our apology might sound something like this: “I’m sorry if you felt offended” or “I’m sorry I did that, but I was really stressed out” or “Yeah, I’ve said I’m sorry like a thousand times, can we get over it now?” These are not real apologies. Real apologies are healing. Fake apologies just hurt us more and leave us feeling even more distant and alone.

Here are three things I know to be true about real, heartfelt apologies:

1.????Apologies are triple healing.

2.????It’s never too late to apologize.

3.????Self-worth is the prerequisite for a true apology.

1.????Apologies are triple healing.

We often think we apologize to the other person so that they can heal. But a true, real, heartfelt apology will have a healing effect on the person apologizing, too, and what’s more, it will heal their relationship and build trust. For the person receiving an apology, they experience the apology as acknowledgement of their pain and assurance it will not be repeated. Obviously, when it’s just words and boundaries are then crossed again, that is not an honest apology and offers no healing. For the person giving the apology, it lets them repair the damage and thus relieve their guilt, but it is also a way back to integrity and to their values. It lets them come closer to themselves. Their relationship also benefits, as new boundaries are set and values are affirmed. Apology is a triple gift.

2.????It’s never too late to apologize.

I had a few experiences of “belated apologies”. I remember one that came several years after the incident. At an improv show, a male co-player jumped me on stage and simulated sex. I was young and inexperienced and I just froze and smiled. I never said anything, it became a running joke for a while and then people forgot. But I never felt comfortable around him since. For years, I wouldn’t go on stage with him. Until one evening, he must have had some sort of revelation, he came to me, awkward and uncomfortable, and he apologized. We didn’t become best friends. However, I did go on stage with him again, feeling safer than with most other guys. I figured if he mustered up the courage to apologize for something he did all those years ago, if he thought it mattered enough to bring it up even when he didn’t have to – he must be a decent guy. No matter how long it’s been; if you think you’ve done something wrong, apologize. It does matter.

3.????Self-worth is the prerequisite for a true apology.

When we do something wrong, we can go to two places: guilt (I did something wrong) or shame (something is wrong with me). An apology can only come from guilt. When our self-worth is on the line, admitting mistakes becomes excruciating. We need to deny our wrongdoings so we can keep a positive self-image; but our self-worth takes a toll nevertheless. I remember a situation when I told a good friend about how some of her behavior had hurt me, and she would defend herself for a while and then finally, she said: “If what you say is true, it means I’m a terrible friend. And I can’t accept that.” She didn’t apologize. I didn’t hear from her for months.

And that’s it, isn’t it? When we are so ashamed of who we are, of who me must be to have been able to do all the terrible things we did, it becomes impossible to admit it, own it, apologize, and make amends. Heartfelt apologies can only come from a place of self-compassion and self-acceptance, self-love even. As long as we can’t forgive ourselves for doing something bad, it remains near impossible to own up to it and be accountable.

Hey, leader, when was the last time you apologized?

In positions of authority, in leadership, apologies are as rare as a four-leaf clover. I’ve never found one, but I hear they’re real. People on top have the power to define and redefine reality for the rest of us. It is very easy for them to say: “That never happened,” or “I’m sorry you feel offended, but what I did is completely acceptable behavior for someone in my position,” or “I take all responsibility,” but then never getting around to changing anything or repairing the damage.

If you are a leader, know that your apology matters. You are human. You make mistakes. And when these mistakes hurt other people, apologizing makes it possible for them to trust you again. Without trust of your people, you cannot lead them. Even when you are only responsible for 37% of the problem, apologize for that. (And avoid the trap of expecting an apology back, a true apology requires no answer apart from maybe: “Thank you, I appreciate you saying that.”) It takes real courage to own the parts of us that we’d rather deny.

That is integrity. That is wholeness.

We need leaders who are whole.

Who remain whole even when they do something wrong.

Who value relationships over their own ego.

Who practice their values, and when they slip, they get back up and try right over.

Because that is the only way we can ever do better.

Inspired by: Harriet Lerner, Why won't you apologize