I’ve started writing this blog on a Saturday morning while downing (I don’t mean sipping) champagne out of the bottle and eating Oreos. My babies are sleeping, and I’ve worked up the nerve to offer an apology 15 years in the making. I might as well treat myself while giving zero f**ks about my waist line.
Pause. Let me do it now.
So…I did it. Sent a message.
A lifetime ago, I had a falling out with a friend who meant the world to me. I’ve never felt entirely right about my role in the situation. I knew I hadn’t done the right thing, but I was entirely too much in my feelings to admit that.
I would think of reaching out, then I would think myself out of it. I was owed an apology first. What about my feelings? I was only reacting to the wrong done to me. I’m not about to look weak by reaching out to someone who wasn’t reaching out to me.
Actually, I did send an email a few years later–my idea of a truce–but the gloves weren’t entirely off. So, I was like f*ck it! Time went on, I got over the hurt, and thought about reaching out. All that was left was too much time had gone by and we are in different places in our lives.
The reality is, though I thought I needed to atone for my behavior a long time ago, my pride was bigger than my will. I didn’t want to open myself up just to be sh*tted on again. How do I say You really hurt my feelings, so I spazzed out? I never communicated that I was hurt. I thought, You did it so you should know.
This morning, for whatever reason, the first thing I thought to do was say you’re sorry.
Pride is a motherf**ker! I thought apologizing would negate my feelings. It doesn’t. My feelings were real and they were valid. My response left me less than proud, however. I’ve always regretted the lack of maturity I exhibited.
In this moment, I am satisfied with my decision. I don’t need a response or to be acknowledged. No one is under any obligation to reciprocate. It’s never too late to right a wrong. I was wrong, and I hope I’ve set it right.