I apologize all the time. For nothing. For everything. For little, silly, insignificant things. “I’m sorry” is likely the most oft-used phrase in my vocabulary and perhaps beginning today I’ll keep a tally–maybe even the next few days. Anyone wanna make any guesses? Maybe I’ll throw in a prize? (Or I won’t, and then I won’t apologize. Mmm’kay?)
Danielle’s post made me think about where it comes from, this incessant need to blurt out the phrase so frequently. It’s become such a bad habit. I don’t even realize I’m saying it half the time. I think it comes from my core, my lack of respect for myself, the high standards I hold myself to. It comes from listening to my mother who also apologizes on a regular basis. But like Danielle points out, it seems women are doing most of this, not men. Why?
Because for the most part, we’re the ones in the trenches. We’re juggling everything, doing it all, trying to make 3,428 things fall into place on any given day. Even if we don’t “work” per se and stay home with the kids, we’re still cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, playing chauffeur, laundress, secretary, and personal shopper. We’re raking the leaves, pulling the weeds, taking out the trash, playing referee and unclogging the toilet . We’re schlepping to the vet, schlepping to the pediatrician, and schlepping to the PTA meetings. We’re wiping butts, wiping countertops, and wiping runny noses. We’re running errands, running after soccer balls in the street, running up and down the stairs. When we’re off our game, the whole house of cards collapses; dinner doesn’t get made, Joey’s late for soccer practice, and we come home to dog barf all over the kitchen floor. And then we say it. We say, “I’m sorry.”
No more I’m sorry. It’s okay to have Stouffer’s frozen lasagna for dinner sometimes.
No more Mrs. Nicey Nice. It’s pointless to feel badly about stupid stuff.
No more apologizing for things that are not my fault or are out of my control (i.e. dog puke).
No more even thinking about apologizing when it’s unnecessary.
No more apologizing for calling someone, worrying it might be a bad time (that’s what voice mail is for).
No more apologizing to my kids when I’m telling them they can’t do something. I’m the mom. I’M IN CHARGE, DAMN IT.
No more apologizing for crying. Emotions happen.
No more apologizing for missing important meetings. I just had hernia surgery.
No more apologizing for not commenting on all of your blogs. I do what I can when I can. I still love you.
No more apologizing for not being able to constantly juggle the 2,754 things that are on my plate without missing a beat. It’s just not humanly possible. Perfection is unattainable.
In conclusion, I’m not sorry. Really, I’m not.