I stood frozen, my purse still hanging from my shoulder, my keys still in my hand.
The Power of an Apology: Why Saying Sorry to Our Kids is Critical
As I look back on that day, I am filled with gratitude for my mother, and for the lesson she taught me. I am grateful for her example, and for the way she showed me what it means to be a good parent, a good partner, and a good friend. the day my mother made an apology on all fours better
When I looked down at her on the floor, the anger that had been tight in my chest dissolved into a profound sense of relief.
There are moments in life that fracture you. And then there are moments that rebuild you from the ground up, brick by painstaking brick. For me, that moment came on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, when my seventy-three-year-old mother lowered herself to her hands and knees in her own living room and apologized to me. Not from a chair. Not from across a kitchen table. On all fours. I stood frozen, my purse still hanging from
“I am sorry for the day you were born and I was afraid. I am sorry for every time I chose silence over a hug. I am sorry for every sigh. I am sorry I made you feel that my love had conditions. It does not. It never did. I am sorry I am a broken woman teaching a whole daughter how to be whole.”
Her hair was completely gray now. Her hands shook slightly. And her eyes—those eyes that had always been so quick to judge, so quick to dismiss—were red-rimmed and uncertain. When I looked down at her on the
There is something hauntingly beautiful about seeing a person you’ve always viewed as "above" you choose to be "below" you. In that physical act, she stripped away the armor of motherhood. She wasn't a matriarch in that moment; she was a human being acknowledging the pain she had contributed to. "I Didn't Know How to Be Better"
That apology was "better" for several reasons that changed the course of our relationship:
We live in a culture that treats apologies like legal liabilities. We phrase them carefully to protect our egos and minimize our faults. But true reconciliation requires a willingness to be uncomfortable. It requires us to get our hands dirty in the mess we created.
As I grew older, I began to appreciate the significance of that moment even more. I realized that my mother's apology was not just a one-time event, but a reflection of her character. It was a reflection of her kindness, her empathy, and her compassion.