The Hardest Thing to Write: the word sorry.

Words come easily to me—too easily sometimes.
I can stretch a metaphor across pages, spill my heart into a story, & talk circles around a feeling until it finally makes sense.

But saying “I’m sorry.”—short & sweet with a period at the end—that’s something I’ve struggled with.

Part of it is wiring. I’m a chronic over-explainer. When something goes wrong, my instinct is to unravel the whole knot so people understand why the mistake happened. I believed conversation creates compassion. I fear being misunderstood, judged, or misread, so I try to rationalize.

But I’m learning when people don’t want the diagram of the knot. Learning that has been humbling. Slow. Clumsy at times. But sincere.

This post, though, isn’t really about the apologies I’m practicing. I added that part to show that I’m not perfect—just someone trying to grow, to reflect, & to be accountable for my impact.

This is about sharing, in my own safe space, my experience with wanting to hear apologies from others.

I’ve heard “the past is the past,” “let’s move on,” & “I’ll do whatever you want” more times than I can count.

For a long time, I took those words as hope—keep going, don’t look back. But that kind of healing doesn’t hold.

Without talking about the past, without acknowledging the harm, without understanding it together, we’re just layering blank pages over wounds & hoping they stop bleeding.

I see apologies as connection.
They can be the bridge between two people after something has cracked.

Some of my deepest hurt comes from the times when empathy never showed up. Moments when I needed someone to sit beside my pain instead of asking me to pretend it wasn’t there.

I’m sharing this because healing is rarely a straight line. It’s generational rerouting. It’s deciding that the cycle stops with you.

It’s choosing to need honesty instead of silence. To need clarity instead of confusion. To need an apology that isn’t conditional or deflecting. It’s advocating for yourself even in the smallest ways… like knowing when the moment calls for a comma, & when it needs a period.

& that’s the part of healing no one prepared me for:
When I became the one who had to choose.

If you’re walking a similar path, here are a few books & resources that steadied me as I learned how to set boundaries, understand patterns, & reclaim clarity:

• Set Boundaries, Find Peace by Nedra Glover Tawwab — compassionate, direct guidance on boundary-setting without guilt.
• Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents by Lindsay C. Gibson — a validating look at how old patterns shape us & how to break them.
• First, We Make the Beast Beautiful by Sarah Wilson- a new story about anxiety.
• Instagram: @nedratawwab and @the.holistic.psychologist — daily, accessible reminders about healing, self-worth, boundaries, & emotional clarity.

“I wanted all human life to be pure transparent freedom, but I found myself existing in other people’s lives as a solid obstacle, I built a dam.” -Sarah Wilson

P.S. What This Looks Like

I’m sharing this now because the holidays are coming—& for those of us doing the hard work of healing, the table won’t always have the same guests.

Sometimes it’s smaller, quieter, or filled with chosen family instead. & that’s okay.

Healing changes seating charts. Boundaries shift traditions. For years, I saw that as a flaw… an empty seat I couldn’t fill, a space I didn’t set correctly, a reflection of what I’d “failed” to fix.

Last night, while I was ugly-crying my way through that thought, my husband gently asked if I wanted feedback.

He reminded me every single year our calendar is full.

Full of gatherings we create.
Full of people who love us.
Full of kids growing up surrounded by friends who feel like family—
Full from finding those without tables to go to & creating love together.

& maybe that’s the real truth I’m finally letting in:
My table isn’t missing anything. It’s evolving.
& the people who sit at it choose us—just as we choose them.