When you say a word over and over again, it tends to lose its meaning. It doesn’t sound the same as it once did. It doesn’t even feel like a real word anymore. You repeat and repeat and repeat and repeat, and it doesn’t even look the same.
I think, sometimes, this is how I feel about the word “sorry.”
Hi, I’m Kate, and I’m a serial apologizer.
They say girls are inclined to apologize more than boys, that something is built into their psyche to make them unconfident, an inherent lack of belief in themselves so strong that it takes a piece of their spine away, holds it over their heads and waits for the appropriate moment to strike—just the perfect moment of weakness. I think that I live in that moment of weakness all the time.
My emails begin with “Sorry to bother you.” I can’t pitch an idea without knocking it down before it even comes out of my mouth: “Sorry, this is probably stupid.” Someone insults me or hurts my feelings or even makes me cry and I apologize for overreacting. I can’t even get through a good cry or a good laugh without apologizing for my stupid feelings or for the stupid sound of my voice. One time I got upset about a haircut and, when my hairdresser noticed, I apologized for asking her to cut so much off.
It’s rather horrible, but I am constantly apologizing for bumping into chairs, closing a door too loudly, mishearing someone when they speak too quietly, sneezing too loudly. I apologize for the attention that other people give me, for being looked at, for the vulnerability of the moment that eyes and ears are turned towards me. I apologize at the slightest inclination that I have hurt someone’s feelings or that I’ve said something that has offended them or someone they know or someone they don’t know or anything. There’s something to be said about a person who apologizes so much, who lives with these kinds of regrets or understands emotions or something like that.
Maybe it’s that I’m empathetic and I really don’t want to hurt anyone. Maybe I don’t want people to look at me. I shrink away at the thought of attention that I didn’t want. I’m so often sorry that anyone has ever bothered with me. I think I hate that about myself.
It’s this incessant voice in my head that tells me that I better say sorry for speaking up, sorry for having an opinion or thought of my own.
Say you’re sorry, say you’re sorry, say you’re sorry. Sometimes, it beats in my ears like it’s going to explode. What a nasty little habit the whole thing is, to make myself say sorry sorry sorry sorry. I’m not even sure I know what the word means anymore.
There are ways not to say “sorry.” It’s allegedly very easy. Other phrases exist, the “pardon mes” of the world. There are TED Talks and articles and so many stupid things that say “You can be confident without being arrogant, assertive without being aggressive. Saying sorry hurts you.”
Maybe it does, but maybe I need it. It’s a consistent sound, a constant in my life, a word that spills out of me the way a pot boils over when you’ve left it on too long. It’s the steam when I’m upset and ready to blow. It nags like an angry mother, telling me that I’m too loud and too brash and too much. I try to get better, and I want to stop saying I’m sorry because I know it isn’t always true. I also know there are things in this world that require a lot more effort that just this. I don’t know if this is a habit I’m going to break.
I think I might regret this article, and I might regret being so sorry all of the time. Sorry about that, but I’m not sorry either. I don’t want to be the cause of someone’s pain or to make a loud noise or say the wrong thing. I wish I knew. I’m sorry for being so sorry, but maybe I’m not.
