I’m sorry.
I’m sorry
I’m sorry.
These words are second nature.
I saw a post last week about how many times us Brits apologise. I was sorry about that. I felt like it was shameful to use that word so often. But yet I still do.
I’m sorry I didn’t call you. We said we should, but life got different.
I’m sorry we didn’t have that meet-up. It would have done the world of good. Instead the world got dark.
I’m sorry that I zoned out for the last 6 months, I never should have taken the tablets that allowed me to be so numb. The Dr said they’d help. And I’m sorry I believed them.
I’m sorry that I shared too much. I shouldn’t have told you about that time I hurt. I know now that moments like that one should be silent, should be processed without any drama. I know that now and I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I’m not still not back to being the person you met. I lied when I told you I was strong. I see now that I’m not.
I’m sorry I bring so much baggage with me, I guess I never learnt how to set it down. I’ve realised I should know better by now.
I’m sorry I never knew how to be a better mum. I really thought I’d be good at it, I dreamed about it so many times. But the start in life I gave you wasn’t how I had hoped. I’m sorry I didn’t realise this at that time, otherwise I could have changed things. And I’m sorry if my behaviours meant you struggle to understand things now. How the world is, how to be strong, how to take no shit. I never passed on those skills. We ran out of time, I didn’t find the right words and I tried to be a friend instead of a parent. I see now I should have done better.
I’m sorry I tried to speak up, to be heard. I’ve realised that still isn’t acceptable in this world. For a woman to find her voice, speak her words, speak her truth. Because our truth has been brushed over, minimised, so we know our place again. And I’m sorry I don’t fit that mould.
I’m sorry that between you, the past was rewritten. My input wasn’t asked for because no one liked what I had to say, so that leaves me as a liar. Forever questioning reality. Made to feel I must be mad. How can you all remember a past that doesn’t match up with the diaries I wrote that day?
Maybe I’m wrong about so many things I wrote in those journals and I’m sorry I don’t fit in with your dialogue.
And I’m so so very sorry through all of these moments of shame and of sorry that I lost the little bright-eyed girl I used to be. She deserved a future as bright as her dreams where no one ever made her apologise. Or made her feel smaller than she was.