I feel like I’m reaching my “no longer afraid to apologize for all the shitty things I did in my past” era.
Like, I’m sorry for being that bitch (and we all know I’ve been that bitch).
I’m sorry for constantly trying to manipulate everyone around me into loving me (while simultaneously not believing I deserved to be loved and so never feeling like any of it was enough).
I’m sorry for all the times I didn’t rinse my dishes after using them (I now see just how gross that is).
I’m sorry for never appreciating how abundant I am, for not being as grateful as I could have been for the people, vacations, health, gifts, massages, and meals I’ve been lucky enough to experience.
I’m sorry for not feeling confident to name my truth, for hiding parts of myself from the world, and for blaming everyone else for doing it.
I’m sorry for expecting anyone to be different than they are—I know I’ve used that as an excuse time and time again to play out my rage, but I see now that you were just showing me the things that were coming up for me to heal.
I’m sorry for bitching during our walk along the beach in Puerto Rico. It’s not an excuse, but I didn’t know how to express myself any other way and I was filled to the brim with feelings of not fitting in and not being heard.
I’m sorry to myself for not knowing how to act any other way, for all the times I didn’t know how to give myself the love and connection I so desperately wanted, for picking the people most likely to reject me and treat me like shit because that’s what I thought I deserved.
And while I’m sure there’s more, I’m grateful to be at the point where I can grieve the shitty things and also no longer use them to beat myself up for not being/knowing/doing better.
I did the best I could with where I was.
So did you.