Love Means Never Having to Say You’re Sorry

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It’s been a week.

It began with Violet deciding to, valiantly, shave her head. Then it was surgery again – the insertion of a main line through her chest that will be used for chemo, blood tests, and stem cell harvesting. And then, acute anxiety, developed from continuous, almost daily onslaughts of “scary things” along with multiple overlapping medications – panic triggered by anything and everything that moves.

A situation like this is a day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute emotional battlefield. What defines you in one minute is eradicated by a panicked cry from the bathroom, a sunset, a meeting with a doctor, a soft “I love you, Mommy” before bed. One cascading consequential moment after another piles on top of you throughout the day, tossing you side to side like turbulent seas. Settling on one perspective, one attitude, one opinion is as impossible as keeping focused on a single snowflake in a snowstorm. 

I have become an emotional punching bag, absorbing blow after blow of outrage. After weeks of what in any other circumstance would be considered significant psychological abuse from my daughter, I’ve admittedly  been starting to feel beaten down. Not that I’ve wanted to confess to feeling tired, or hurt, or fragile, because that would mean declaring victimhood. In a situation like this, and as a mother, the last thing I would do is assume the role of a victim.

My sweet little girl gets to play that card all she wants.

And yet, she doesn’t. She apologizes incessantly for her outbursts. She acts accountable for her actions in retrospect, and takes time to tell me how grateful she is for my patience and support and care.

Her words of remorse hit hard and fill me with a kind of appreciation that’s difficult to put into words. But each time I hear them, I respond quickly and defiantly. “You don’t need to apologize, Violet. I get it. That’s what I’m here for.”

But it isn’t universal, that sentiment of forgiveness and acceptance – that idea that those people we love don’t have to apologize for their trespasses against us. Right now, Violet gets a free pass from me. She gets to take out all of her fear and agony on me in any way she sees fit. Because I am her mother, and to me, no child on earth should have to endure this kind of hardship or gravity, not without an outlet for their emotions.

And yet, I don’t seem to give Lucy the same permission to explode. Or my husband. Or anyone else. Because, after all, they aren’t 8 years old and dealing with cancer.

So where’s the line that we draw in the sand between what is forgivable, and what requires remorse and apologies? Where do we decide to give consideration and understanding to others for their actions and choices, and when do we say that they are unacceptable?

For this family, things have been percolating for weeks, and when things boil over, all that hot water and steam have to go somewhere. And hot water and steam can cause serious damage. Third degree burns, if you aren’t careful. So when that happens – when damage is done - who is at fault, and what is the consequence?

I don’t think anyone would argue that we are all allowed a little bit of leeway here. We are all dealing with a lot. It’s inevitable that normal expectations don’t necessarily apply. However, it’s still important to hold each other accountable, to support one another, to act with consideration and respect. And to try to empathize with one another’s plight.

There are no hard fast rules to this game. No standards of behaviour or boundaries that apply to everyone in all circumstances. We decide what works for us – what’s acceptable and what isn’t. For me, in this, due to the depth of the situation, my expectations are different. My normal standards of approval are out the window. And when I have tried to enact certain normal expectations, they don’t make any sense. How can anyone be expected to play by the rules when the game is so significantly unique?

There is, of course, always a line to be drawn. Even when people mean well, they can still hurt us, and when that hurt becomes something unsustainable or unwarranted, we must take care of ourselves. 

Violet doesn’t mean to hurt me. She means well. And she has remorse for the actions that do inflict pain. So does everyone else in this situation.

What’s important in a time like this is that each of us take care of ourselves. We need to make it less about the wrongs being done to us, and more about the rights we can for ourselves in the moment. I need to be Violet’s punching bag, but I also need to make sure that I attend to my own needs, take a break when I can, and be honest with myself when it’s too much to take. I need to love her, understand her, and also love myself. I need to communicate my limits while addressing hers. It’s a give and take situation, even if the balance is weighed differently than it was before.

I’m learning my limits. They are being pushed, more than I ever thought possible, but they are still there. We can only take so much before the dam bursts. But it’s ok to fall apart. It’s no one’s fault. There doesn’t need to be blame and shame and guilt. Just understanding and honesty and compassion.

Unconditional love DOES mean you don’t have to say you’re sorry. But it never hurts to communicate it when you are. And to remind others that your intention is always good, even if your limits prevent you from always acting your best. None of us are ever our best, but good enough sometimes has to do. For now, good enough is all we’ve got.