What makes an apology real? Guilt? Forgiveness?

What goes into the perfect apology?

My family wasn't big on apologies. There was too much pride, too much hurt and too little empathy.

We made up for it by being big on guilt and denial.

Living on the lower east side of emotional life, in the pushcart section where everybody held onto a bundle of emotional baggage, we never unpacked our grievances and we never put them down.

Of course, if you never unpack it, it isn't really baggage, is it? It's just a heavy weight you carry around.

There were aunts who held the pink slip to their spouses' souls, never quite forgiving them but instead showing them their ever-open wound whenever some heft was necessary to win an argument.

These were men who wanted nothing more than a chance to prove themselves reformed or remorseful, but the aunts wouldn't permit it. Instead they seethed and settled down into smug procrastination; they patented the art of being patient, wounded and "excused" from life the way sick kids are excused from gym.

Is it a surprise that such unconscious stratagems don't exactly increase intimacy? A conversation that includes the lines "What else do you want from me? How many times can I say I'm sorry?" rarely ends with a cuddle and a smooch.

I was raised that way and it's a tough habit to break.

People seek forgiveness for lots of reasons: They are tired of the oppressive nature of their wrongdoing; they would make life easier for themselves; they want to make life better for others.

They want to go to heaven. Even if they're not sure there is a heaven, they don't want to go to hell. They want to get rid of a shadow life, they want to express their sorrow for pain they caused and they want to air out every piece of dirty laundry.

Or maybe self-reproach overwhelmed them. Guilt is like prickly heat; it's rarely fatal, but it sure is uncomfortable. Some people can stand it while others are driven almost crazy by it.

Is there ever a time when one person's need for forgiveness or confession overrides the other person's need not to be hurt?

"No," says my friend Maggie Mitchell. Author of the forthcoming literary thriller "Pretty Is," where questions of guilt and innocence abound, Mitchell argues that "If your apology is driven by a desire for forgiveness, you're not only missing the point but probably compounding the original offense: It's still all about you."

But two other friends disagree. Melissa Baartman Mork explains that, "The offender doesn't need to receive the forgiveness. The offended needs to forgive." And Kathleen Thompson reminded me that, "Forgiveness isn't earned. It is given by choice."

That's probably a reason it was hard for my family to seek forgiveness: We were big on earning but not on receiving.

If forgiveness was a gift, then it had one strike against it.

We were encouraged to be wary of anything simply given to us. What looks like a generous offering might be an act of war. Hey, the Trojans learned that the hard way: They should have looked that gift horse in the mouth.

But lately I've discovered that saying "I'm sorry" is not mere window dressing but instead is the only way to keep some doors from slamming in your face.

Here's what an apology isn't: An apology is not an excuse; it's not an explanation; it's not a justification; it doesn't come attached to a return-receipt request.

The person asking for forgiveness should not be tempted to provide a context where upon the recipient of the apology is supposed to then feel sorry for the offender. An apology does not blame the victim (which is what the bankrupt and meaningless line "I'm sorry you feel that way" does) but instead comes from a willingness to humble oneself and to accept responsibility.

And you can't ask for forgiveness with either your hand in a fist or around a noose; you can't threaten or cajole others or yourself in the process.

Yet a heartfelt apology and sincere forgiveness can both offer a way to conclude life's unfinished business: There's a reason the word "end" is tucked into "amend."

Gina Barreca
The Hartford Courant
(TNS)

Comment by clicking here.

Gina Barreca is a columnist for The Hartford Courant.