Are Apologies Selfish?

My grandfather used to tell me to never apologize: that my friends don’t need it, and my enemies won’t believe me.

He taught me many truisms, but this one I disagree with.

When we are hurt by someone, it can help to hear, “I’m sorry.”

What I think my grandfather was getting at is this: saying you are sorry is not enough. To truly be sorry, you must be sincere in being contrite — and also moved to alter your behavior so as not offend again. But that raises the question: If the act of apologizing is merely a form of asking for a second chance, why bother asking for forgiveness? Why not just say, “I’ll do better next time?”

What does it mean to be sorry, to apologize — and is that even the same thing as asking for forgiveness?

. . .

These questions were prompted by Yom Kippur, or Day of Atonement, the holiest day in the Jewish calendar. In explaining the meaning and intent of the day to a friend, I said it was customary for people to ask for forgiveness. “If I have done anything in the past year,” I said as an example, “please forgive me.”

But what was the point, I was asked, of the word ‘if’?

It doesn’t acknowledge or own up any specific wrongdoing. It even leaves open the possibility that you may not have done something wrong at all. In short, absent of specificity, it lacks sincerity.

So is there any point in the blanket, conditional apology?

Yes.

Just not for the recipient of that apology. It’s the person asking that has something to gain.

That’s why a blanket apology can seem so self-serving or even selfish: you’re asking something of someone that appears to be a gesture about them, but is really about you and for yourself.

But that doesn’t mean apologizing is wrong and it certainly doesn’t mean it doesn’t have any value. And it doesn’t have to be self-serving or one-sided, either.

Not if the person apologizing is sincere — and the recipient sees the intent behind the ask.

. . .

Apologies not attached to specific acts and hurt feelings can seem fake.

But think of all the times your boss said something to you that you didn’t like. Not things like constructive criticism but things about you, your work or your personality.

Or think of that time your friend said he’d call, but didn’t. What about the time your other friend rescheduled your Friday night out at the last minute, a night you’d been looking forward to but then wound up spending alone, kind of sad?

In the countless interactions with your family members, or your spouse, or whoever you spend a lot of time with and talk to a lot, you are bound to hear or experience something that hurts, or makes you feel small, or tugs on your insecurities in some way.

In that moment you can either choose to say something about it, or let it go. If you choose the latter, the other person will never know how something they said or did made you feel.

Now turn the mirror.

How many things have you said or done that may have made someone else feel inadequate, or belittled or just plain hurt? The reality is you don’t know — but rest assured you’ve done it.

How do you make things right with that person?

. . .

In the moment when someone asks us for forgiveness, we own a special power: we can choose whether or not to grant it, and that decision will impact the other person.

When someone says they are sorry, they transfer power to us. It now is upon us to control the equilibrium between apology and forgiveness.

But even if we choose not to forgive, the person who apologizes can still feel relieved of their burdens of causing harm, of the guilt, shame, embarrassment and/or regret of having hurt someone.

What we’re really doing when we apologize is attempting to cleanse ourselves, maybe even forgive ourselves, for having done wrong.

Many times I’ll see my partner’s young daughter do something, usually trite and minor, that is the opposite of what was asked for and maybe never should have been done in the first place.

Spilling something at the table. Jumping on the couch despite repeated requests to stop. Not putting shoes away or not responding to requests to brush teeth and get ready for bed.

What’s interesting is the instinctual response of “I’m sorry” once her mother expresses frustration.

An apology is just words; to be meaningful, it must be a commitment to change behavior.

The child is sorry for upsetting her mother, but still learning to see the connection between her actions and her mother’s feelings.

How similar is a child’s gut-reaction apology to our own experience as adults: while an apology is nice, what would be even better is to not go through the same unpleasant thing again, to see a change in behavior.

. . .

For me, it’s defensiveness. When my partner complains about something I’ve done, I’m often too quick to defend myself, which winds up escalating our disagreements and making things worse.

I’m working on taking that criticism and handling it in a more mature way, and I’m also trying to head off the problem-causing behavior in the first place. I see, after the fact, that when I instinctively get defensive, it’s because deep down I know I was wrong at the start.

In the heat of those arguments/conversations, I take a step back and try to defuse. I take a deep breathe, see and feel the frustration, and apologize.

And I know, in that moment, the apology is for me. I know I’ve done wrong, I know I’m at fault, and the apology is a way of vocalizing it. In those situations, rather than saying I’m sorry, it would be better to say, I’m wrong, and I understand why, and I’ll try to correct this for the future.

. . .

I think again about my grandfather’s words.

My enemies won’t believe me, my friend’s don’t need it.

Upon reflection, maybe the way to understand his advice is not in the value of offering an apology, but the meaning of receiving one.

My enemies, or those who aren’t my friends or don’t know me or don’t care about me, have no reason or motivation to trust me when I apologize. Whereas my friends do.

That trust refers to the future, not whatever act I may have committed that warranted the apology.

So I can say I’m sorry as much as I want.

But the proof is in what happens next. That’s where my friends and loved one will believe in me to get it right, or to at least try.

When I apologize to them, I’m really asking for another chance.

It’s OK to issue a blank, conditional apology. We see this from politicians and entertainers and public figures who say or do something that has caused us offense, and caused them shame and embarrassment.

When they say, “I’m sorry,” it’s a start. When they say, “if I have offended anyone,” it’s seems empty of admission of wrongdoing. If and when they say, “I’ll try hard to learn from this and not make this mistake again,” it seems sincere.

To extend forgiveness is a sign of trust: trust that we won’t be hurt again.

To verbally apologize is the first step to rebuilding and regaining that trust. It’s an important start. It’s a declaration that you care, that you want to get it right.

But it only goes so far.

What happens next is what truly matters.

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This post was previously published on P.S. I Love You and is republished here with permission from the author.
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