Dear “I’m sorry”,
I know, it sounds strange to address a letter to a phrase. I promise though, this isn’t meant to be some grand spectacle of deep thought. If I’m working to make sense of my gender, life, and identity, I must address every aspect. For those who are closest to me, they will tell you that “I’m sorry” is probably my favorite phrase. I will express upfront that I desperately wish it were not.
So, why this particular phrase? Why am I always sorry? Well, that’s rather complicated to answer. Parts of me wish I could easily blame it all on faith, as though Catholic guilt plagued me and my decisions in life. Perhaps there’s some mental disposition that causes me to repeat one phrase over and over again, but that’s not the true either.
It’s hard for me to trace back to when this problem began. Could it be connected to my parents? Maybe. I often remember my mother making me feel sorry for a lot. I doubt she ever intended this, but the outcome remains the same. There would be little moments where it felt as though whatever it was she was doing for me—whether it be food related, driving me to school, reading Harry Potter to me before bed, or the request of comforting back scratches when I couldn’t fall asleep—was some sort of inconvenience to her.
A common myth concerning only children is that our anger comes from our spoiled privilege. For me, it was the pain of isolation. All I wanted was to be heard. This is in no way meant to paint my parents as neglectful, they never were. However, emotionally, my mother was very distant. It caused this space, an absence within me, which caused me to often feel like an inconvenience. It was as though I needed to apologize for my presence. I should have been more vocal, but when I would finally let it all out, it was seen as a tantrum. If I wasn’t a good boy, what was the point of me?
A massive catalyst for my apology problem came when I lost my cousin Brandon. I apologized to God everyday, usually in between cursing him out at the same time. I was sorry for whatever I did to lose Brandon. I was sorry that I couldn’t save him, that I wasn’t there for him. I was sorry I couldn’t tell him I loved him or hug him goodbye. Even now, there are days I catch myself apologizing to his spirit, when I feel as though I’m failing his memory. For a long time, that memory was what I held onto with all of my energy. Of all the people I’ve lost in my life, I think he is who I apologize to the most.
I also apologize fervently to loved ones and partners. I can date this aspect back to one of my first relationships where I was made to feel guilty for many things, which were out of my control. Looking back, it was not a healthy relationship by any means and it only fueled the apologetic fire within me. I always strive to be a wonderful partner and when it is evident that I am failing, I shut down. That’s when the apologizing kicks into high gear. Upsetting and hurting the people I love is a cardinal sin to me and I actively seek to avoid it at all costs. The pressure I exert on my need to be “perfect” often acts as my achilles heel.
I also always feel specifically compelled to apologize to women. Why is this, you may ask? If you were to ask me now, with the insight I’ve gathered so far, I would answer that it’s due to my unconscious acceptance of masculine roles offered to me in my youth. I often apologize for my ignorance and I feel as though I exhume some sort of imposter syndrome that I want no part of. I didn’t ask for this body and every day I am working to undo the damage my gender has wrought on the women of my life. Often times, my apologies would get me into even bigger trouble, because there were so many of them I wouldn’t know what I was apologizing for. I simply felt guilty and repentant for being me.
Maybe that’s it. For most of my life I’ve perceived myself as the inconvenience. All of my self-constructed illusions of being the mistake, the failed man, the imperfect lover. These were roles of my own construction—parts I would play on a daily basis—yet all it led to was disillusionment and destruction. Instead of approaching the issue head on, I would continue to apologize and further distance myself from those around me. I’m slowly trying to wean myself off of apologizing. It’s a hard habit to kick, especially now that I know what I am sorry for. I still use apologies to extend my empathy to those in mourning, or nursing a broken spirit. I think instead of apologizing for who I am, it’s now time to work toward living as I am and striving to be happy with that. I’m certainly a work in progress, but I’m getting there.
Love always,
-Tyler