We all know that apologizing can be one of the most difficult, yet helpful things we can do in our relationships with friends, loved ones, and colleagues. Take these two contrasting perspectives as an example of the paradoxical nature of the simple art of apology:
“Faultless to a fault.” —Robert Browning, The Ring and the Book.
“Never apologize and never explain—it’s a sign of weakness.” –John Wayne in She Wore a Yellow Ribbon.
My goodness! Here we have the poet Robert Browning suggesting that someone who needs to appear to be perfect is flawed, and the actor John Wayne telling us that we should never show weakness by giving an apology. Robert or John—who should you go with on this? Should you, like my dentist, apologize quickly and often when you hurt someone, or should you hang tough like an attorney I know who will never admit a mistake?
First, we need to recognize that John Wayne (or his screenwriters Frank S. Nugent and Laurence Stallings) may have been thinking that an apology is an admission of fault, and therefore an admission of weakness. I respectfully disagree. I don’t apologize merely because I am at fault. I apologize to soothe another’s ruffled feelings, sometimes even when I don’t believe I’m wrong.
Why not? An apology takes very little time or energy compared to the positive effect it can have on others.
So let’s get rid of the idea that an apology equals weakness or an admission of fault. My dentist never intends to hurt me. I think he wants me to feel as good as possible about the painful experience of having a new crown fitted.
Of course, apologizing is easier said than done. In the movie A Fish Called Wanda, when Kevin Kline’s character finds himself in one particular scene required, in his own self-interest, to apologize. But as much as he tries, he finds it almost impossible to say the words, “I’m sorry.” I found that scene very funny, but oh, so true. Words of apology tend to stick in the throat, or in the mind, or somewhere in between. Let those words out!
An easy example happened two days ago, when Daveen woke up quite sick. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well,” I said in the morning darkness. She did not blame me for her temporary illness, and I did not feel in any way responsible. But I did want her to feel better, so in this case my “I’m sorry” was an expression of support and not an admission of fault.
But suppose I was at fault. Suppose I had been sick first, and insisted on coughing all over the place, contaminating bedding or other surfaces. In other words, suppose Daveen, rightly or wrongly, thought that my selfishness or 
carelessness caused her to catch her illness from me? I would say, “I’m sorry you’re sick, and I’m sorry that I wasn’t more careful.” The benefit of my apology is that Daveen will feel better, she will feel supported, and she will feel to some extent that she is not responsible for her own pain. What do I lose? Maybe she’ll be angry with me for infecting her, whether I did or not, but I would rather she feel better from my apology than that I think of myself, probably incorrectly, as blameless.
Several years ago, I read a book titled Do I Have to Give Up Me to Be Loved by You, by Jordan and Margaret Paul. The basic idea is that when an intimate partner asks you to change something (“I would like you to wash your hands before dinner”) you have two choices:
1. You can have an intent to learn. (“Why is washing my hands before dinner important to you?”)
2. You can have an intent to defend. (“I always wash my hands before I leave work.”)
In my experience an intent to learn, which may end in an apology, leads to agreement and good feelings. An intent to defend almost always leaves the other person feeling shut out and angry. As a practicing pragmatist I find that, unlike John Wayne, there has never been a downside when I have apologized, and there has seldom been an upside when I didn’t but should have.
I would be delighted if you use my thoughts on apologies to help yourself and others. If not, well, I’m sorry that this isn’t a strategy that will work for you.
Alan
I used to think that admitting my mistakes was a sign of weakness, and so I didn’t. I went through life assuming I was perfect while blaming everyone but myself for anything and everything that went wrong. You can imagine how well that worked. Over time, I’ve changed my tune and developed a practice of advertising, rather than hiding, my mistakes. People trust me more when I’m open about my imperfections. None of us are perfect. We all make mistakes, and if we can admit that to ourselves, and others, we’ll build much stronger and more authentic relationships.
The moving parts in your car require lubrication. So does the friction in your human relationships. When a friend is feeling sad the best “oil” I can provide is to listen and sympathize. I don’t have to solve the problem – time will do that. With proper lubrication a car engine will run for many miles. With 