sorry
If we are in relationship with everything, all the time, then we also have a relationship to certain words, and the rituals around them. One of the most potent of these is the muttered, proclaimed, or shouted: “I’m sorry.”
I think it’s safe to guess that most of our relationships to The Apology started with similar choreography. Perhaps you were three, launching a LEGO at your sister's forehead just to test gravity. Or maybe you did it because, let's face it, siblings can feel like a threat to your very survival, snatching away precious resources and the love of your parents. The LEGO makes contact and then- a taken aback grown up, a sharp gasp and “Say sorry now.” That was it- your first encounter.
It probably registers as yet another odd demand by the giants around us. “Wash your hands.” “Say sorry now.” I imagine with the rise of gentle parenting all over Instagram, more parents are starting to wonder how “sorry” got lumped in with basic hygiene commands. “Say sorry” implies “feel sorry,” and while I’ve tried more times than I can count, you cannot just summon a feeling on demand.
So, those early toddler neural pathways started linking the absence of a “sorry” (and absence of feeling behind it) with punishment. The word becomes a reflex akin to “ouch” and the meaning and ritual of it get lost to fear.
I noticed this consequence in myself a while back. I hurt someone I love- as we often do- and the first sensation in my internal world wasn’t empathy; it was a vague sense of pleading to some hidden, looming parent, like I was sorry to… the universe? It wasn’t directed at the person I hurt. No, the first thing to hit me was a flood of right vs. wrong. I’d crossed a line. It was bad. I was bad.
When we internalize that apologies mean forceful acts of urgency, we lose the chance to nurture our natural empathy. In that first wave after making a mistake, there isn’t much room for connection or compassion. Instead, the moment becomes all about *us* as we navigate our sense of shame, our bodies sensing impending discipline.
Understanding how we were conditioned to react to mistakes with urgency and shame gives us the chance to rewrite the script. Instead of treating apologies like a knee-jerk, obligatory habit, we can reclaim them as moments of real connection and repair. When we make room for actual empathy—not just the words—we open ourselves to deeper connections with others and, maybe even more importantly, with ourselves.
