For twenty years, I apologised to my mother-in-lawover and over, without a second thought. It had become automatic, as if apologising to her was simply woven into my very being.
Where are you? Ive been waiting half an hour already! Her voice crackled through the phone, charged with accusation.
Im so sorry, perhaps I wasnt clear about the time I started, by sheer habit, even though my message had clearly said: meet at three. It was only a quarter to.
Almost all our conversations began this way.
That day, we were supposed to choose curtains for my daughters bedroom. I suggested sending her some photos, but she insisted on coming along in person.
These ones are rather nice, I said, pointing to some light, cream-coloured curtains.
Cream? Completely impractical. Navy blue will hide the marks, she cut me off. Ive raised childrenI know.
So we picked the navy blue.
On the journey home, I stared out of the car window in silence. Everything was supposedly normal. She was content, but I felt a heavy ache insidea weight I couldnt even name.
That evening, I spoke to a close friend.
You know what Ive noticed? she said. You apologise for things that arent even your fault.
Her words stopped me in my tracks.
Suddenly, I began to reflect.
Id apologised for not attending some family meal, which we hadnt even heard about in advance.
Id apologised for not asking her advice.
Id apologised because apparently the present I chose was unsuitable.
Id apologised that my daughter wasnt staying over for the night.
As if I was somehow responsible for her mood, for her disappointment.
But the deepest revelation washed over me later, when I found an old photo of myselften years old. Quiet, withdrawn, almost apologetic just for existing.
My childhood replayed in my mind.
A tired mother, her nerves frayed. Words like, Youre making life harder for me.
And mea child who decided she was responsible for the feelings of the adults in the room.
That belief lived on, even as I grew up.
Only now, it was my mother-in-law instead of my mother.
A week later, she phoned in another temperthis time furious that wed enrolled our daughter in ballet.
Usually, Id have started with,
Im sorry We didnt mean to upset you Well discuss it
But this time, I steadied myself and replied gently,
Im sorry you feel upset. But this is our decision as her parents. Its not a slight against you, and it isnt my fault that our choices dont match your expectations.
An uneasy silence echoed on the line.
My hands shook after I hung up, but inside, something lighteneda release Id never known.
When my husband mentioned that his mother thought Id been rude, I simply said,
I wasnt rude. I just didnt apologise for something I hadnt done wrong.
She visited a while later. For the first time, we spoke honestly.
I just want to feel important, she admitted quietly.
You are important, I said. Your opinion matters. But its not an order.
That conversation didnt fix everything. Sometimes I still feel the reflexive urge to apologise, even when it isnt my fault.
But now, I see it.
And I put a stop to it.
I am not responsible for other peoples feelings.
And realising that was the most liberating moment of my life.
