Sorry (adj): mournful, sad

When I was an undergraduate in my early twenties I was followed by a man to my car, grabbed by the waist and attacked.  It was years ago, and honestly the details of the incident don’t truly matter too much anymore.  It happened at 11:30am in a busy area around campus, so as soon as people responded to my screams he threw me down and ran away.  Being dropped on the pavement like a wadded-up gum wrapper disturbed me more than anything else.  Though shaken up and furious that he had gotten away, I was and am completely fine.  I do feel anxiety when people walk too closely behind me, and if a stranger is in my vicinity for an uncomfortable length of time I remain where I am and act like I’m waiting for someone until they leave.  I’m sure at times my anxiety-ridden behavior can leave me looking like the suspicious individual, but…these are what I took away from a situation that could have been a lot worse, and there’s something to be said for hyperawareness.  


Though it happens very rarely – maybe a handful of times since it happened – this memory comes to the forefront of my mind.  I realize now that what bothers me most about what happened is the disturbing turn the conversation would take in my retelling of the event.  It would go something like this, “…then he came from behind me, put his arm around my waist and put his hand up my skirt.  I kicked my legs, elbowed him and screamed frantically until people came running.  That’s when he threw me on the ground and ran across the busy street out of sight.”  On several occasions the person listening would earnestly reply, “were you wearing a short skirt?”  Thinking about it now the question is less upsetting than my own desperate desire to answer.  No, my skirt was not short.  It flowed almost to my ankles.  It was the year that people wore low-rise, belted, long, flowy skirts.  That satisfied the listener and at the moment I was happy to deflect any blame that might have been placed on myself.  I lost track of how many times that was asked so I began to qualify “skirt” with “don't worry, it was long.”  Self-preservation is innate, and sometimes that presents itself as relentless defensive behavior.  Sometimes it presents itself as repentance.  And sometimes that repentance is unnecessary. 


Years ago, the #sorrynotsorry trend brought to light the frequency with which we throw around the word sorry.  Used as a preface to an unpleasant statement it creates a buffer between us and those on the receiving end of said unpleasant statement – like a modern version of “no offense, but….,” freeing us to then say whatever offensive statement we have planned – but also, we are shielding ourselves from blame and judgement.  By taking it upon ourselves to acknowledge the unpleasantness of what we are about to say we expect exemption from others and reject the consequences of those statements.  We are not sorry, and we know this.  There’s also the apology that replaces “excuse me,” which I’ve noticed as a habit of mine.  An accidental shoulder bump or blocking of passage is an exceptionally minor offense, does it require an apology?  If you’ve never thought about the amount of times and the reasons you apologize on any given day (or hour) I encourage you to do so.  


The other day I counted the number of times I said “sorry” during a forty-five-minute visit to a dog park.  Five.  That’s once every nine minutes.  I was sorry that my dog wanted to play with another woman’s dog frightening her enough to scream maniacally at me even though my dog is afraid of everything and wouldn’t get remotely close to hers.  I was sorry my dog drank from another dog’s water dish.  I was sorry that another dog came up to mine and started a minor scuffle resulting in some growling and mild nipping.  The man’s dog didn’t see it happen so rather than explain the situation I offered an apology which his blank stare and immediate exit led me to believe was not to his satisfaction.  Truthfully, I was proud of myself for not going into a full explanation that my fifty-pound dog pees himself and runs if a rock “sneaks” up on him and that his dog started it.  I’m learning to let go of that part of me that needs to explain and justify my every word and action.  I’m learning to embrace the contradictions within myself and others without judgement and without requiring an explanation.  Our negative thoughts generally reflect our own anxieties and have little to do with those the thoughts are directed toward.  Accepting that we don't always have to justify who we are, what we do, or how long we choose to wear our skirts is really quite freeing.  No #sorrynotsorry necessary.