Dear Eddie,
I was wrong. Yes, again, for sure. Oh, how I hate to be wrong, much less to own and say the words out loud. There was no way around the fact. And, crap, if I didn’t again learn something new about how can we repair breaches in the pleasure of our life together.
I was wrong—undeniably so. There was a half loaf of bread—the kind that is 4 WW points a slice that had to go to the grand kids and out of our house. There was also a bag of Hungarian Hot Wax peppers that had to go to their house, too. It was a hectic day. I asked the kids to stop by and collect said bag. Grandson popped in, made a pit stop, and a snack stop, and looked for the bag on the counter—no bag, so he said. I asked/sent you to the kitchen to help him find the goods, and neither of you (guys) could find it. I swooped into the kitchen—fussing that everyone was helpless—what in the world was their problem? No bag—nowhere—nada—dematerialized. I was puzzled but I was Not Nice, and I was wrong. I hope you both took my apology but the episode bore some scrutiny.
I needed to think about what I actually did and said. I needed to repeat to myself, “I was wrong.” Like Balki in the old sit-com Perfect Strangers, I needed to grovel on the ground and repeat, “I am lower than pig sweat.” I needed to tell you that I accepted the responsibility for my actions, being very specific about my shame, and expressing my heartfelt regret. You just laughed this time. You love me. But there are times when there are big deals.
I thought about times when you have been wrong, and you have thought long and hard about the issue and about your behavior. You have revisited the details, the underlying feelings, maybe the fears, and you have shared that information with me. I always appreciate the simple “I’m sorry,” but I experience being cherished when you thoughtfully consider the whys and your wishes to behave differently.
Repairs are not excuses. I always want an explanation. I felt better when I figured out the mystery. I had taken the bread and peppers to the car to take to the kids when I picked up Granddaughter for Girl Scouts. Girl Scouts was cancelled. Next morning—Voila! But explanations are for me. The thinking and voicing is a gift for you and for us. Thank you for the attention you give to fixing the times when you are wrong. Thank you for giving me room to dig myself out of the dog house and find the real issue, whether plain old tired or fears or pinches.
We learned long ago that when there is way more heat in an interaction than the facts warrant, we better look more deeply and not just change the subject. My new learning is that I feel very loved by you when you examine a wrong incident and share your learning with me. I hope I show you that you are very much loved when I examine my own wrongs and believe my mea culpa. I know every breach doesn’t need the full treatment; we would be exhausted. I do know, however, that we are worth much more than the embarrassment of my bad behavior over a vanishing grocery bag. I love you.
Sylvia