My parents taught me well—apologize when you’ve wronged another. Saying “I’m sorry” shows empathy and respect for the other. Though well-intended, their practice had an unintended lesson, a hierarchical aspect—child to parent apologies were encouraged but rarely did they practice the reverse.
An unintended part of the lesson became ingrained—I owed but wasn’t owed amends. And also, I rebelled by withholding apologies. Overcoming or dislodging that stubborn stance has been difficult as I’ve too often resisted being accountable, owning errors of judgment, and acknowledging that I’ve committed harmful acts or hurtful words. I struggle when inappropriate, judgmental thinking captures my attention.
Thinking I’m sorry, let alone saying it doesn’t come easily for me. My vain conceit and its self-righteousness resurfaced in a glaring, unexpected way several weeks ago while shopping at a local market on a dreary, rainy day.
After posting a blog on the website (Phoneless, Fat, and Self-Righteous July 6, 2016) I’d naively thought the temptations for judgment and criticism had been excised from my soul, or at least been muted, and that thought or voiced apologies would be more familiar responses to my blunders and errors of judgment.
They hadn’t.
Unsightly and repulsive, I thought as I watched the customer in front of me unload his cart at check stand #3. It wasn’t the many-sizes-too-small, sweat-stained T-shirt alone that caught my attention, but the plumber’s butt and rolls of fat protruding everywhere that etched the undesirable image in my mind. The obese man, elbows resting on the metal handle, had filled his cart with bags of Cheetos, potato chips and nachos, and several cases of Mountain Dew. Based on the number of frozen packages stacked to overflowing, I imagined Fat Boy Jr. Mini ice cream sandwiches must have been on sale.
My vanity led to exclusive “I’m better than he is; and I’m okay, he’s a mess” thinking.
Though most likely no one in the check-out line on that rainy Saturday morning picked up on my embarrassment, my private humiliation was no less compelling. This isn’t easy for me to write, and though writing often demands unforeseen struggles as I doubt and question most-things-Roger, the resistance I’ve encountered during the writing of this post has caught me off guard.
Once again when I thought I’d “gotten it,” I was reminded that the work-in-progress that I am is just that, a work-in-progress.
The story that day continues. As I unloaded a variety of fresh fruits, vegetables and an assortment of lean meats and fresh salmon onto the conveyor belt—and did so with more than a bit of conceit—the thoughtful cashier asked if I had a supermarket identification number. I replied that I did not. The grossly overweight customer, about to roll his cart toward the exit, stopped and waved in her direction: “Please, here’s mine,” he said with unexpected graciousness, “use it, Rachel,” then smiled at me.
“Thank you,” I said sheepishly, smiling in return. Exiting the market, I felt the weight of my demeaning judgment.
Private thoughts wisely left unsaid, but nonetheless garnering my attention and energy took seed—shame on me for having had them.
I’m sorry, I thought. I know better.
I adjusted the hood of my sweatshirt, hung my head in disbelief at my dismissal of the thoughtful overweight customer, and walked toward the shelter of the Volvo. Before opening the driver’s side rear door, I paused. What had been a drizzle became a downpour creating an indecipherable mix of raindrops and tears that rolled down my cheeks. What I thought I’d left behind—a part of my humanness from which I’d been freed—remained in place.
Once seated behind the steering wheel, mind wandering and hidden from scurrying passersby, I thought of three events when the graciousness of others had left a lingering impression on me.
“Undskyld!” Ulla had said after spilling orange marmalade on my shirt and pants while serving my brother and me breakfast. Ulla, the daughter of a Danish business associate of our father and our first and only au pair, wanted to learn English and so had come to live with us in Drammen, Norway. I remember her gracious apology, spoken in spontaneous Danish which I didn’t understand, but her eyes and facial expression conveyed what her words could not. It was one of the few times, that I could remember, when an elder apologized to me.
Madame Reid, an excellent and passionate high school French teacher, deserved a better student than I was willing to be. During the years that she brought passion and linguistic skills to the high school French classes in which I was enrolled I coasted, settling for being a B student. She’d remind me of this not by lecturing or scolding, but by writing, Je regret et je suis desole, B- (I regret and I’m sorry, B-) at the bottom of my papers or tests. She knew I could speak Norwegian and believed that with more effort I could learn French as well, and her “I’m sorry” written next to the grade was her gracious way of letting me know she took my nonchalant approach to be partly her fault.
Louise Penny’s intriguing Chief Inspector Gamache novels, set in the small town of Three Pines in French Quebec Canada, have well-defined characters who often speak the phrases: desole, or je suis desole. When the Chief Inspector first mentioned his mentor’s four statements that lead to wisdom—I don’t know. I need help. I was wrong. I’m sorry.—I became aware of how few times I admit to any of the four, and how often I believe I know, don’t need help, am right, and have nothing for which to be sorry.
This makes me wonder, too, if I am different from those who seek my assistance as a therapist. No, I am not. Admitting to not knowing, needing help, being wrong, and apologizing requires that we shed our defenses and find strength in being vulnerable—not an easy task when our emotional wounds demand protection.
The rain-splattered windshield blurred whatever transpired outside in the storm, but the memories brought clarity to my heavy heart. Be more accepting and forgiving, I thought. When I’m confronted by my human errors, I ought to take responsibility for harmful words, spoken or thought, and do so without too much self-judgment.
Once the key was turned, the engine sprang to life and the wipers cleared the windshield. Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount came to mind as I looked at my face in the rearview mirror.
“Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye,” he’d said, “and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?”
For the moment the plank had disappeared, and the speck was visible. Je suis desole, Jesus. Je suis un etre humain brise mais repentant (I’m sorry, Jesus. I’m a broken but repentant human being.)
I shifted into reverse and backed out of the parking space.
by 
Thanks for this thoughtful reflection Roger. Backing up is your last action in this post, but the one we all need to take when we get too blind or unaware of the humanity of others around us. Peace Kim
Kim,
To back up requires something from which to do so, and that’s the dicey part, the unavoidable face-to-face that reveals us to ourselves. Reminds me that there’s no light without darkness, heat without cold–sometimes, too often I’m afraid, I’d like light and heat without their counterparts. Thanks for reading and responding.
Roger
Many times I have felt shame when I’ve made a snap judgement with appearances only. “Don’t judge a book by its cover” is a very wise saying but it’s difficult to learn from. The saying should be, “we judge books by its cover” as a statement because the “don’t” is finger wagging and then it’s oh-oh, I did it again and here comes Mr. Shame. Thank you for your soul bearing story. It gives me pause until I judge the lady in front of me in a grocery line. I’ll think of you.
Jo Anne,
Mr. Shame has permanent residence in my “house,” an unwanted guest I keep feeding! Thanks for reading and commenting, Jo Anne.
Roger
That which I want to do … I don’t do … and that which I don’t want to do, I do. Who can save me from this body of sin?
THX Roger for connecting me again with my and your favorite “buddy” Paul! And Jesus!
Love and prayers,
Chuck
Chuck,
The older I get the more curmudgeonly I become, Pauline on his worst moments, and then when my “donkey” is knocked out from beneath me I see the “light, ” a sight I too often remain blind to seeing! Thanks for reading and commenting. Miss you bro’!
Roger
What a wonderful essay, Roger. I try to remember that “I’m sorry” is only the beginning. It is followed with, “Please forgive me” and “I’ll try not to do that again.” I believe that is just as important for our internal conversation as it is the external. Thank you for helping me remember this.
Rick,
And thank you for reading, commenting, and reminding me that I’m in wonderful company!
Roger
I am at the symphony with a small group of friends. It is intermission. A fellow in the row in front of us stands up. He is wearing a t-shirt several sizes too small. His pants are hung very low exposing what is better covered. Weird! NOT SYMPHONY ATTIRE! He turns around facing our group addressing us in an affable manner. In the meantime, I have taken out my phone and discovered your piece—Caught in the Act of Judging! I am reminded that there are many ways to live a life, and we are all in this together. Thanks, Roger.
Dona,
Could this have been the same man, the Universe’s gift to those of us too prone to snap judgements? The Great Mystery never ceases to amaze me when I keep my ears and eyes open. Thanks for this poignant comment, and as always taking time to read my words.
Roger
Good reminder on why we shouldn’t judge. I’m guilty of this and have been working to be less judgmental.
This piece reminds me of a similar situation I found myself in recently. It was as if God was having an intervention with me!
I’ll tell you sometime soon. You’ll appreciate it, I think.
Lisa,
Thanks for reading and responding, much appreciated. I think we all have similar stories, and when The Great Mystery whispers in our ears, the intervention may alter the way we think and act–at least for the moment–and create hope for us. I look forward to hearing more of your story.
Roger
How quick the judgment comes – and how slowly the apology (or even the recognition of the need for one)!
We’re all works in progress! Thank goodness God is patient!
Sue,
Yes, it comes quickly, and the apology too slowly, an ever present reminder of our wonderful and perplexing humanity. Thanks for reading and commenting.
Roger
A lesson of humility – and just as painful as your lesson of shame! We keep trying, Roger –
Jenny
Jenny,
Thank you for reading and commenting, letting me know I am in good company, and yes, we keep trying. Maya Angelou, when asked if she was a Christian said…”I’m trying,” and to that I say. Amen.
Roger
Ouch…….your admission of judging the other man in the grocery store, felt all too familiar to me, along with the false pride in seeing yourself as better in your food choices and appearance. I truly appreciate your honesty with yourself and the courage to share your struggles of a lifetime to look at yourself and accept your flaws. You give us such a simple and common example, an inspiration to look into the mirror to see our own imperfections. God is at work, teaching us to see ourselves, and others, with honesty, acceptance, compassion and forgiveness. We are fortunate to be able to open ourselves to these lessons…….. to live and love this gift of being merely mortal, facing our flawed humanity, with god’s presence and unconditional love. Thank you for helping us to see ourselves more clearly. Write on, reluctant disciple.
Colette,
Thanks for reading, commenting, and your kind words. Once upon a time–yes, my fairy tale–I imagined barricading myself from the world and in so doing eliminate any stimuli for judgment. It was a creative and fun fantasy until I realized I’d be my only companion–a “Grimm” existence to be sure. “Facing our flawed humanity” brings unexpected gifts even as getting there entails discomfort. We’re not in a canoe of fellow judgers but a cruise ship, learning as we go.
Roger
True love always begins with saying that you are sorry!
Cy,
Thank you for this response, and taking the time to read my words. We all move ahead, saying I’m sorry, to embrace the true love to which you refer. Here’s to that journey!
Roger
My first reaction to your post is that you are way too self-analytical and therefore way too hard on yourself. If I dissected every thought I had about the anonymous people who enter my world of observation each day, I would become a self-judgmental basket case! That being said, you remind me of my need for the “Jesus Prayer” that is affixed to my bathroom mirror where I take notice every morning: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner.” That covers all of the instinctive judgments I make each day about others. But your post is for me an important reminder of the need for this prayer. I do desperately need God’s mercy each day for my multitude of transgressions. I practice a daily amends before I go to bed each night for my narcissistic thoughts and consequent actions. You have reminded me of my need for God’s grace. Thank you Roger!
Bill,
Thank you for reading and this response. In a way [my parent’s son] I come by being “hard on” myself well, but I do so with some gentleness in the self-analysis, or try to. Tough at times but it keeps me attentive and doesn’t detract from joy and enthusiasm for a life lived fully. Mercy and Grace are necessary for the vast array of us seekers regardless of how we experience or define the Divine Great Mystery. Dorian [Gray] Marum often returns my gaze when I look in the mirror, but does so with a welcoming, mercy and grace-filled smile. AND, the mirror doesn’t crack!
Thanks, Bill.
Roger