Bipolar 2 From Inside and Out

Posts tagged ‘apologies’

The Importance of Apologies

When my mother was a young woman, she had the chore of cleaning up her parents’ bedroom and emptying the trash. She came across a condom and asked her mother what it was. Grandma gave my mother an innocuous but wrong answer, claiming it was where Grandpa spit when he was chewing tobacco.

Later, of course, my mother learned about condoms and what they were really for. She told me this story much later in life and expressed disappointment and hurt that her mother hadn’t told her the truth.

When I was a tween, I asked my mother a question about my body and asked her not to tell anyone what I had asked. Minutes later, I heard her telling my sister, “She thought she was developing, but she’s not.” I was disappointed and hurt.

Neither my mother nor I said anything about these incidents at the time. My mother only told me her story when I was an adult. I don’t think I’ve told mine until just now, in this post. I’m sure both of us would have felt better if our mothers had apologized to us.

Neither of these incidents was earth-shattering. They were just that—lone incidents, not part of a pattern of untrustworthy behavior. We didn’t feel we had to break off all contact with our mothers. We still loved them. I know it just goes to show that they were human and therefore imperfect. But I know I was a bit let down, and suspect my mother was too.

The Guardian recently printed an article about Lindsay C. Gibson’s book Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents. The author of the article, Emline Saner, chose to highlight a story from that book in which a mother apologised to her child, then seven, for being too harsh while potty training her as a toddler. It let the child know that the child had done nothing wrong—that the mother was admitting that she had fallen short because of circumstances in her own life. In this instance, the daughter burst into relieved sobs.

I wouldn’t call my mother or my grandmother emotionally immature. Our parents were human. Both of them fell short in communicating about difficult subjects. Later on, we felt that we had deserved the respect of being told the truth and being listened to. We weren’t significantly harmed by their lapses. But they were something we remembered into adulthood.

Saner’s article says, “Gibson’s idea of emotional immaturity is not an official diagnosis. It has been criticised for being too broad, for shifting blame onto parents, and for tempting readers to pathologise fairly benign, if irritating, traits alongside more obviously abusive ones. But it has also clearly deeply resonated with people who recognise the deficiencies of their parents, the effect it had on them growing up, and the present struggles they are dealing with.”

No parent is perfect. They all do some things that upset their children, especially when the parent is stressed by circumstances outside of the child’s comprehension or control. But apologizing for those lapses takes a lot of self-knowledge, empathy—and yes, emotional maturity. It gives a child a role model, too. Children learn that parents aren’t perfect, that they can do things that upset the child without meaning to. They also learn that apologizing is the first step in making right something that was hurtful.

My husband (and many other former children) have had trouble apologizing because they’d been told, “Say you’re sorry,” when they didn’t feel sorry. Maybe having an adult who modeled apologizing to a child would have helped them feel more comfortable with making apologies when they were needed.

I’m Sorry

The other day, my husband was putting together a magnifying lamp that I had bought to help me repair some jewelry. I was trying to adjust the lamp to a height where it would be usable and comfortable. The lamp was a cheap piece of shit and it broke.

Instantly, I apologized. The clamp broke. I apologized again. It turned out that the pin holding the clamp together broke. I apologized again. My husband determined that it was not fixable as it was. Guess what I did? That’s right — said, “I’m sorry.” I said I was sorry for ordering the cheap thing. I said I was sorry for wasting money. I was sorry for wasting my husband’s time. I was sorry for everything.

The week before, I wanted to go to an art house in a nearby town to see the documentary about Joan Baez. The whole way there, I was nervous — about the route we were taking, whether we would find parking near enough to the theater, whether we should eat dinner before or after the movie. And especially whether Dan would like the film. On the way home, I kept asking him, “Was that okay? Did you like it? Is it okay that I chose the movie? Is it okay that I chose that movie?”

On the way home, he reassured me. He liked the movie. He learned things he hadn’t known about Joan Baez. We were lucky to find the parking place so near the theater. It was a nice evening for a drive.

Then he said, “Where’s all this coming from?”

“I chose the movie and the time and bought the tickets and decided which theater to see it at. If anything went wrong, it was all my fault.”

“Ah. Old tapes.”

In these recent cases, things went right. Dan figured out a way to fix the magnifying lamp by cannibalizing another lamp. We got to the movie on time and got good seats. We found a handicapped parking spot open right across from the theater. The movie was great. I felt better after we got home.

Dan was right, though. The excessive apologies started in my past — not with Dan — further back in time than that. If something was my choice, and it didn’t turn out great, it was wrecked. I realize this is all-or-nothing thinking, which is counterproductive.

Even before the old tapes, though, I had a habit of feeling sorry for everything and saying so. I apologized for everything. And I punished myself. If I said something “wrong” or even a tiny bit off-color, I tapped my cheek with an open hand, symbolically slapping myself for doing something bad. (I think it’s important to note that my parents never slapped me as a child, so I don’t know where that came from.)

And I apologized endlessly. For everything. My friends noticed. They asked why I did it. They let me know that it was annoying. I tried consciously to stop. And after a while, after having friends who stuck with me, after practice, I did stop. For a while.

Then I got in a relationship with a gaslighter and again felt guilty for everything. He blamed me for things I did and things I didn’t do. Once, he even claimed that when I did something wrong in front of company, I had offended his honor. And of course, if I selected anything — where we went, what we ate, what music we listened to, I was at fault. I was at fault for liking mayo on my sandwiches and for not offering him a bite of my sandwich. I was seriously wrong not to wait for him even though he was past the time for a meet-up with friends. Wrong to hook up with a friend while he was hooking up with one of mine in the next room. Eventually, I shut down, afraid to do anything.

Years later, I got past the apologizing, for the most part. The past two weeks, I’ve been backsliding. I think it may be because money has been extra tight, which makes me extremely nervous, and I’ve had to tell Dan he can’t make some purchases now. That feels treacherous, even though he doesn’t complain or blame or shame me. But it puts me back into the mindset of blaming myself before someone else can. It’s not comfortable for either of us. It’s all I can do not to apologize for feeling this way, for my disorder having this effect.

I’m hoping that writing about it will help me work out how I feel. And maybe make the apologies back off. At least for a while.