I apologize too much. It’s become an invasive species to the habitat of my vocabulary. “Sorry” pops out like a comma, like the word “like.” It peppers my speech yet steals all the flavor. I apologize for being myself sometimes. I apologize for ridiculous things that I can’t control. And when I am to blame for something? Good luck stemming the flow of “sorry.” My sister, my boyfriend, my friends, my family—they all see it, and they know this song of apology isn’t me. I’m not blind to the concern in their eyes and their emphatic insistence that I don’t have to apologize.
They’re right. I don’t. I think I know the reason why I do apologize so much. I can see how I’ve been damaged, how I’ve lived beneath the heavy hand of my own law. I see all my not-good-enoughs and my screw-ups and they cling to me like tar. I think I’m scared of offending people or driving them away. Actually, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m afraid of embarrassing myself. Embarrassment is such a tiny thing, but it connects to my chronic people pleasing. I can see how it drives me to unnecessary apologies—for everything.
I keep thinking about something my pastor said this past Sunday—that this self-blame and this apologizing is a scoff to the cross, a spit at grace. It’s a heavy head hung low, murmuring, “Jesus, I believe that your blood is sufficient for everyone else’s sins. But It can’t be sufficient for mine.” In a way it’s a rebellion. It mocks our Lord’s best gift.
Jesus is not sorry he made me.
This is hard. This is a road I’ve walked for years, and I expect to walk it for many, many more. It’s part of being a people pleaser. But I’m done using that as an excuse, because Jesus calls me to new things. I’m a recovering people pleaser.
So, in that light, here are some things I’ll never apologize for:
I am not sorry that I’m a Christian. I’m not sorry for my convictions and my beliefs. God is good, and he has given me good stories to tell and good songs to sing.
I’m not sorry that I’m a lover. I dispense hugs to every person in my path. I am not stretched thin. It does not overwhelm me. This is how I was made. My heart is big enough for so many.
I’m not sorry for my upbringing. It prepared me how to interact with a plethora of difficult personalities. It gave me opportunities to stretch my wings and test my abilities. My family is crazy and fun. We have adventures together even when we don't leave the house. I love walking through life with them.
I’m not sorry for the goofy noises I make. I’m not sorry for my enthusiasm. I love this life. I love this world. I love what I’ve been given. And I’m going to celebrate every moment I’m able.
I’m not sorry for my passions. I’m not sorry for the fire in my eyes and my rushed speech when I’m excited. As I’ve said before, the things that I love are good, and they are mine.
I’m not sorry for the gifts of other people. The grace and patience that I am shown are not the scraps off someone’s table. Kindnesses are gifts of love, and to reject them with an apology is selfish and insensitive. So I will not be sorry that the people in my life love and appreciate me, and I will let them express these things to me.
I’m not sorry for where my life has brought me. I’ve screwed up. A lot. I’ve asked for forgiveness in those places and have received it. And now I extend that forgiveness to myself.
I’m not sorry for who I am. I have fought long and hard to like myself. But I am so, so proud of the person I am today. She is kind and vibrant and adventurous and others-focused. There’s work to be done, but I love who I am. And that’s huge.
I know that I’ll slip and I’ll let out a “Sorry!” Habits are difficult to break. But I am resolved to snap this self-deprecating reflex. Friends, hold me to this.