By: Megan Minutillo, Guest Blogger
Underneath it all
I know it's not your fault
That you don't understand
I blame myself
How could you know what it feels like to fight the hounds of hell?
You think you know me so well
How could you know what it feels like to be outside yourself?
You think you know me so well
I just want you to realize I blame, I blame myself …
It was a Friday, and I was really sad. Like, bone sad. And yes, there’s this sort of mushy, gushy, love story that I should probably insert here.
But the bottom line is, I don’t want to.
Cause ya see, that’s not the point.
That’s not the point at all.
But what IS the point, is that I blame myself. Always. I’m the girl who says sorry…always. No matter what. Someone could’ve done something that has nothing to do with me, that’s COMPLETELY their fault, and yet, I’m always the one uttering those three words, “I am sorry.”
And so, when these lyrics by Sky Ferreira came thundering over the speakers of my car, well, I lost my breath a bit. Tears pricked my eyes, and it took every ounce of me to not let them spill out.
And then I wondered…when am I going to break up with “I’m sorry”?
When am going to stop blaming myself for things that aren’t even MY FAULT?
Compassion and empathy are beautiful things. And lately, I find them to be a rarity among people. Qualities that are starting to get pushed to the waste side.
But here’s my problem with that…
I feel all the time.
I take on everyone’s pain, all the time.
It hurts my insides when I see people crying. When I see people dining alone. When I see people wandering around the streets of New York City broken and lost…well, a piece of me breaks right along with them. I can’t help that.
It’s who I am: a feeler. I feel all the time. I take on everyone’s pain, all the time. If there was a superpower for recognizing the pain in the brokenhearted, well, this girl would have it, hands down.
But somehow, this empathy, this want to give, to love, to fix, to heal – well, somewhere along the way it’s translated into putting myself on this sacrificial platter to absorb the pain, the hurt, the guilt, and the frustrations of everyone around me.
Because I care so much, I end up saying sorry when I shouldn’t. I end up apologizing for things that really, when it comes down to it, have nothing to do with me.
I take the blame, I absorb the hurt.
And now, well, I’m saying no.
I’m starting to recognize when to say, no, Sorry, you won’t win here. No, Sorry, you won’t pass through these lips. No, Sorry, you weren’t invited to this party.
But, ladies, part of a break up comes with other, extenuating circumstances. Part of break up comes with knowing when to not hang around with people that will make you fall into bed with old actions that you’d rather leave in your past.
This past summer I met a person who I adored. Who I thought was kind. Who I thought was special. Who I thought was real.
And then, well, Sorry showed up to our party. Sorry came into the bars. Sorry showed up in our text messages, in our phone conversations.
We had another person around, and her name was Sorry.
And one day, this fella, well, he said, “Why do you always apologize?”
And I looked at him from across the bedroom, and said, “I don’t know.”
But you see, girls, the reality of the situation is that I did know.
I invited Sorry to the party, because this fella was making me feel bad. He was treating me bad. He was mean. He was cruel. He spoke to me as if I was the dust on his shoe at points, and rather than walking away, rather than sticking up for myself, I invited Sorry to the party.
And here’s what I’m telling you all, my little Sisters, my older Sisters, the beautiful women all around the world that read this blog:
I’m breaking up with Sorry.
I’m recognizing that when I invite her to a party, when I cling to her so desperately, when she’s the first person I speak of, well, it’s because I’ve put myself around people who tear me down, who bring me down, who hurt my feelings and my soul and all that comes with carless thoughts and actions.
And I’ve had enough.
I deserve better.
YOU deserve better.
And although Sorry has a time and a place, she doesn’t deserve to live in my guest bedroom. You feel me?
Megan Minutillo is a playwright, director, and founder of the arts and education site, The Write Teacher(s). Her articles have appeared in HelloGiggles, So Worth Loving, I Am the Modern Career Girl, and Glass Heel. She is currently at work adapting her show, Ghosts in My Vodka, into a musical.
Featured image via stealingfaith.com