I am so sick of being sorry. I used to think it was a me thing. But now I am sure it is a woman thing. I am sorry for so much that it basically equates to being sorry for my own existence. I am so sorry I am here, contributing, quite frankly, rather awesomely, to this planet and raising two human beings and working and thinking and loving. What a waste of resources. Do I really feel that way? Do women really feel that way? We must.
I’m sorry flows out of my mouth without thinking. I’m sorry has become my verbal equivalent to breathing.
I apologize when I think I’m in someone’s way. When I think I’m stepping on someone’s toes. When someone is actually in my way, or bumps me, or talks over me. When I feel inadequate as a wife, mother, or human. For having faults. For messing up. For getting angry. For feeling anything other than happy and put together. For having feelings, period. I even apologize when I do things right.
A common refrain in our house is, “Why are you apologizing for that?”
Ohmygosh. Why AM I apologizing for that? I have no fucking clue.
Maybe it is the unending worry of disappointing someone, of not being good enough, of putting everyone and everything first, of needing to control but not having the wherewithal or mechanisms to let go. Being sorry is exhausting.
Life is a compounding shit show at the moment. And I feel relief, but supreme guilt (I’M SORRY!) in saying it. No no, don’t let the world know that sometimes life feels like one giant clusterfuck and that you may not be handling it with all the grace and poise that you expect from yourself. Or that you think the world expects from you. The shit show has resulted in more apologies than usual. But now is really a time when it is okay to say HEY. LIFE. You suck! You won’t always suck, but right now… you suck a whole lot. Acknowledge. Cope.
Being sorry does not let me cope. Being sorry does not let me move forward. Being sorry does not make me a better wife or mother. Being sorry does not let me… be.
Fuck it. I am done being sorry.