The Apology That Was Never Enough.

“Say it again like you mean it.”

“Try again.”

“That didn’t sound sincere.”

I learned early that my apologies weren’t convincing enough. That my tone mattered more than my heart. That being truly sorry wasn’t enough, I had to perform it.

So I did. I rehearsed the right inflection. I softened my voice. I tried to look more remorseful, even when I already felt it.

And somewhere along the way, I stopped trusting myself. Stopped believing that my feelings were valid if they didn’t sound the way someone wanted them to.

I don’t know how to say sorry anymore. Not in the moments that matter. Not when I’ve hurt someone I love. Not when I feel the weight of my own impact.

I learned to say it for everything else. For being late, for asking questions, for having needs, for existing too loudly or too quietly.

I say it when I wasn’t at fault. I say it when I’m scared. I say it to keep the peace, even when the peace costs me my voice.

But when it does matter, when I’ve truly missed the mark, I freeze. I panic. I feel like I’m back in that childhood moment where my apology wasn’t enough, where I was told to “try again”, where sincerity had to be proven like a performance.

So now I over-apologize for crumbs and under-apologize for wounds. And I hate that. I hate that I don’t trust myself to say sorry without shame or fear or collapse.

I want to relearn it. Not as a reflex. Not as a punishment. But as a bridge. A way to say, “I see what I did. I care. I want to repair.”

I’m not there yet. Not even close. I still take days to apologize. But I’m trying. And maybe that’s a kind of apology too.