Apologies are powerful things.
They can completely change the trajectory of someone’s life, yet I think they are one of the most underestimated and under-utilized methods of communication.
I bet you can think of several life-altering apologies you’ve received. And I bet you can think of a zillion more you never heard and their absence has marked your life as well.
The ideal situation is for the person who did the hurting to apologize to the person who was hurt. And often, for many reasons, that never happens.
But sometimes, you can apologize for the sins of another and the power of that message can trigger significant healing in the wounded party.
I saw this myself first hand a few months ago. I had locked horns with a dear friend about a certain social issue that personally, I had very little to do with. I agreed with what she was saying but was anxious to move past how we got there to the solution. She kept going back to how she had predicted this and no one would listen to her.
Frustration levels were rising. We were having two different debates. And I realized that until she felt validated, we were never going to connect. So I took a deep breath, choked down my pride, mustered up all the humility I could find and said:
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that we didn’t listen to you about this. You were right. Now we’re in a mess. And maybe we wouldn’t be if we had heard what you and people like you were saying.”
There was a heavy silence and I watched her entire facial expression soften. Connection. She let out a breath she was holding, looked into my eyes and said, “Thank you for saying that. For some reason, now I feel like I can talk about where to go from here.”
We went on to a rich, deep discussion on the issue at hand and though we brought different ideas to the table, we stayed on the same page.
It was a powerful moment that I’ll never forget.
My husband regularly apologizes to me for stuff he had nothing to do with. Things that happened to me in the past. Things that I’m dealing with now. It used to annoy me. It felt empty and trite and I used to snap at him, “Why are you apologizing? You didn’t do it.” He’d shrug and say, “I know. But I’m still sorry it happened.”
Something hurt me. He sees it, cares, and expresses it. Now I allow those words to take the edge off my hurt and accept the comfort of company in my struggle.
We can apologize for other people. We can apologize for individuals. We can apologize for entire people groups. We can apologize for groups we’re not even a part of. And it can make a difference. Sometimes all the difference.
(I am not talking about enabling unkind or irresponsible behavior. I’m talking about coming from a place of close compassion but safe emotional distance to speak into the genuine hurt in someone’s life.)
In light of everything that’s happening in the world right now with everybody shooting everybody, the scandals of Planned Parenthood and Ashley Madison, ISIS creating terror, politicians saying and doing whatever they want, I think some apologies are in order. And with a few exceptions, I’m fairly certain they’re not coming.
We’re all broken, guys. We’re all broken. We’re all scared. We all carry old wounds. We all feel misunderstood, marginalized and mistreated, either in the past or present. And if that brokenness isn’t dealt with, it’s going to come out in unhealthy ways.
And so we shoot each other. We cut each other’s heads off. We turn abusive toward people we’re supposed to love and protect. We get on TV, on the phone, on the computer, in each other’s faces and say horrible things. We get on social media and obliterate and humiliate each other.
Hurt people hurt people. That’s just the way it is. And they may be too broken to apologize.
So with your permission, I’d like to offer some heartfelt apologies on their behalf:
[Read slowly. Find the stuff that applies to you and let it go deep. You need this.]
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
I’m sorry you were abused as a child. Childhood is supposed to be filled with wide-eyed innocence, not fear and helplessness. I’m sorry no one came to your rescue. I’m sorry no one believed you. I’m sorry people blamed you for it. I can’t even begin to imagine the nightmares, PTSD and constant fear you must live with. I’m so, so sorry.
I’m sorry that no one sees you or takes you seriously unless you scare them. You are worthy of being seen and heard and appreciated without having to resort to fear tactics. You were created in the image of God Himself. Just the fact that you’re alive means you’re important.
I’m sorry you ended up in a dangerous relationship. I’m sorry for all the putdowns you constantly hear, the beatings you desperately try to avoid, the fear that controls your every move. I’m sorry that leaving and staying carry the same amount of risk. No matter how you got into it, you do not deserve it.
I’m sorry that your parents failed you. They may have been doing the best they could based on what they learned from their parents. Or maybe they never really loved or valued you. Maybe you were invisible to them or maybe they just threw you away. And if that’s the case, I’m so sorry. You are a precious child of God and your existence is no accident. Your life matters and I’m so glad you’re here.
I’m sorry for all the pressure in your life. Maybe it was heaped on you from a young age to be perfect. Maybe it was something you picked up that earned attention and accolades. Maybe you feel like if you stop and catch your breath, all the spinning plates will come crashing down. You shouldn’t have to work that hard to feel loved.
I’m sorry for that thing that happened that destroyed you on the inside. Maybe you walk around broken and bleeding all over anyone who dares to get near you. Maybe you have learned to hide it and bluff in order to survive. But whatever it was, whenever it was, I am so sorry that happened.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry you were born into poverty and no matter how hard you work, you feel like you’ll never get out.
I’m sorry for those awful words that were said to you that you’ll never forget.
I’m sorry for all the times people believed you when you said you were fine, and you really weren’t.
I’m sorry that you’re trying so hard to do everything right and things still aren’t working out.
I’m sorry that the person you were supposed to trust the most in this world betrayed you.
I’m sorry for that shocking tragedy that shook your existence to its very core and made you wonder if life was even worth living.
I’m sorry that disease is making you fight for survival every day and systematically destroying your dreams.
I’m sorry no one told you the truth about certain things, that you went into situations unprepared, were caught off guard and made bad decisions that still haunt you.
I’m sorry that you were taught from a young age to hate people who are different than you. I’m sorry you have to carry around that baggage.
I’m sorry you’ve been judged by your appearance, your religion, your relatives, your name, your past, your neighborhood.
I’m sorry for the bullies who tormented you, back before people took bullying seriously.
I’m sorry about the mean girls who made your life hell. I’m sorry for the mean women who are still making your life hell.
I’m sorry the pain got so bad, you had to numb yourself with addiction. I’m sorry you feel like you’ll be a willing prisoner to it forever.
I’m sorry for the suffocating loneliness you live with that seems less scary than taking a chance on any kind of relationship.
I’m so, so sorry.
[If you’ve got something I didn’t hit on, please email me and tell me about it. It’s Free Apology Day here at lindseystaton.com.]
There is healing power in apologies. Granted, it’s much easier to apologize for someone else than to apologize for your own wrongdoing. Believe me, I get that.
But very, very recently, I have begun to test the waters of vulnerability. And when I screw up, sometimes I actually apologize for it. And instead of experiencing weakness, I have discovered incredible strength in those moments. And it has changed the game.
The other night I did a preemptive apology to Caroline when I was tucking her in. I was snuggling in her bed with her and her head was on my shoulder.
“Hey, Caroline? I need to tell you something. I love you so much, and I’m honestly doing my best for you as a mom. But I know I’m screwing it up.”
Her head popped up and she looked at me incredulously. I continued.
“I know I’m making mistakes. And I know someday when you’re grown up, you’re gonna look back and see exactly how bad I messed you up.”
She started to protest, looking genuinely confused, but I kept going.
“Baby, I’m a mess. You know that as well as anyone. I’m passing on all kinds of bad habits. I set a terrible example in a lot of ways.”
She snuggled back into my shoulder. “Well, I think you’re great,” she whispered, her voice getting sleepy.
I hugged her close. “I think you’re great too. Just remember someday when you’re mad at me for everything I’m doing wrong now, I was doing my very best and I love you like crazy and I’m so sorry for all the stuff I messed up.”
She had already checked out. “Okay, Mom,” she answered, to pacify me. Her eyes got heavy and I kissed her good night, hoping against hope that she’d remember that apology. And that I’d have the guts to keep doing it again and again and again.
An apology can save a relationship. And I dare say, an apology can save a life.
Who in your life desperately needs an apology, either from you or from someone else? Give it to them. Validate their pain. Connect.
If the hurting people in the world got some genuine apologies, maybe we’d all be a little less afraid, a little less defensive, a little less angry, a little less isolated, and God willing, a little slower to draw a weapon (actual or figurative).
And maybe a little bit more of the Kingdom would slip quietly into this world.
