“I’m Sorry:” The Immense Power of an Apology

When called for, it’s hard. That’s why you need to do it.

Dr. Godfrey eyed me over her blue mask.

“We need to open your knuckle and see the damage.”

“Not on your life,” I nearly snapped at her. I was exhausted. Only a few days prior I had flipped my Honda at 65 mph, leaving part of my knuckle, the tendon and a lot of my car all over I-84 outside Twin Falls, ID.

The X-rays taken by the ER doc, who treated my busted-up hand with all the kindness of an earth mover, showed bits of either gravel or bone. The knuckle was a ripe mess. The pain pulsed and glowed like a living thing.

It was a living thing, that pain.

She pulled back a bit, annoyed. She understood what I’d just gone through in the ER (my entire body is a web of ER repairs), but Dr. G is a hand expert. Not only that, a pediatric hand expert.

“This is what I do,” she said, peeved. This is someone who, unlike the ER doc whose job it is to save lives and stop the bleeding, knows how to block the entire nerve of a finger. The ER doc shot me six or seven times right in the fucking trashed knuckle and then shoveled around in there like he was digging for gold. Hurt like a motherfucker.

He’s not an expert on hands. He is an expert on saving my ass.

Dr. G is an extremely talented hand surgeon. She knows how to block the pain. And I had just told her I didn’t trust her skills.

She wasn’t happy.

She had every right to be unhappy.

However, she wasn’t aware that I had just spent the previous week in the hospital with kidney stones and a surgery. She wasn’t aware that I couldn’t sleep. None of that was her issue.

Her issue was that I didn’t trust her. That was insulting.

If you please. Kindly consider every damned time you and I, as bona fide experts in some aspect of life, have had our creds challenged by some nitwit.

Usually some nitwit with a fraction of our knowledge or skill set or experience. They read something online and now they’re the world authority.

Yeah. It’s a pisser. Being a woman, worse. Add color, well. You know. Black doctors. Black female doctors are treated like the help, and they are the ones about to operate inside your brain pan.

Kindly. You see where I’m going here.

I tried to fix my gaffe.

Dr. G wouldn’t quite let me backtrack. I was put in a splint for six weeks.

I penned her an apology. A formal letter, which stated that I was out of line and very wrong. Made it funny, but the apology was unequivocable.

Sent it to her office.

My finger got wickedly angry, cost me sleep, and hurt so much I had to go to urgent care again. I got called back to see her. This time she took out the stitches (YAY.)

She didn’t say anything about the letter. She didn’t have to. We laughed, shared stories about Colorado and medicine overseas. I had sent her a business card that identified my expertise as an adventure athlete. She’s also an athlete from Colorado. This time around we could find what connected us rather than fight over competence.

World of difference.

She can trust me to respect her.

And I can trust her to know I own my shit.

The best opportunity to create trust is when we screw up.

My good friend Dr. Janelle Barlow wrote an important book some time back titled A Complaint is a Gift. One of the key takeaways for me is that when you and I make a mistake with a customer, the quality of our service recovery can define the rest of our relationship.

Conflict defines our character.

When you and I make a mistake, and we will, regularly, how we handle that makes all the difference. We can bluster and barter and do our best to be right.

That toxic response costs us not only the customer’s trust but also undermines their belief in what they can expect from us going forward.

The same is true in all relationships.

While we women all too often apologize for our very existence, this is different.

Make a mistake? Own it. Do it in such a way that the person you offended feels whole and valued.

That completes you. That’s integrity. The word evolved from the Latin integer, or “intact.”

When we are out of integrity we are torn. Incomplete.

When we own our shit we are made whole again, and so are those we hurt. Those we have offended.

The power of a proper apology mends people, strengthens relationships, and restores trust.

You can skip this part. Sure you can. But every argument you invest in being right when you know you’re wrong tears you apart further.

We mend when we make amends.

And I have also made a friend.

I think that’s worth the apology.