Acknowledge, Approach, Apologize: The Art of a Genuine Apology

Overthinking and beating yourself up for making a mistake won't do you any good. However, I get that sometimes a mistake we've made really has hurt or offended someone and it's appropriate to acknowledge it and apologize. 

But then, the overthinking about the mistake itself becomes overthinking about how to apologize and what to say. Right?

Don't panic! Breaking down the steps to a genuine apology and writing your thoughts down before approaching someone will help you know what to say. 

💙First, you'll want to acknowledge the mistake you've made.

You can say, "I realize that what I said during our conversation may have hurt you."

Giving Yourself Grace: Building a Better Relationship with Yourself

Have you ever replayed a mistake in your head over and over, only to find out the person you worried was offended or hurt doesn’t even remember it? It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Learning to forgive yourself is one of the most powerful ways to build a better relationship with yourself—and it starts with giving yourself grace.

Giving yourself grace means recognizing that you’re human, that making mistakes is part of life, and that beating yourself up won’t change the past. It’s about choosing to be kind to yourself, even when you’re not perfect.

The energy we spend dwelling on our mistakes could be used to learn from them and move forward. Instead, we often let shame and guilt hold us back. Think of mistakes as opportunities for growth. Instead of asking, "Why did I mess up?" ask, "What can I learn from this?"

Caring deeply about others is an admirable trait, however, sometimes it can go too far. Overthinking and feeling overwhelming guilt about a mistake - especially one that may have caused someone harm- will prevent you from making progress. 

If you feel you’ve hurt someone, approach them and apologize. (More on that in my next post.) Often, the act of owning your mistake is more impactful than the mistake itself.

Building a better relationship with yourself takes practice, patience, and persistence. It starts with a simple choice: to give yourself the grace you deserve. The more you practice self-love, the more you’ll feel free to live authentically and without fear of your own mistakes.

💙Keep Shining!💙

Where Has the Time Gone?

Available on Amazon! 
https://a.co/d/i8L2DzC
 

The last few months have been an absolute whirlwind! Between writing, editing and finally publishing my first book, IDK What To Say: A Guide For Navigating Social Situations, returning to work and back to school season, launching my author website and social accounts AND beginning every day at 6am sharp to work on writing my novel, Amber Luna, My Bright Light  ... Phew ... my original little corner of the internet here on blogger just about slipped my mind. Sorry it took me so long to make my way back!

As I've been working on reaching more readers through socials and events, I've been truly humbled by and am grateful for the show of support from both family, friends, and yes, even strangers on the internet. There's no greater feeling than knowing your true self is finally in alignment with what you're actually doing with your life. Achieving my dream of being a published author doesn't mean all of life's problems have magically melted away overnight. I'm not prancing through flowering meadows wearing a cape and sun hat just because I have a link on Amazon! Responsibilities and the realities of everyday life remain. But taking steps to do what I know in my heart I'm meant to do gives me peace, despite all of life's challenges. Being my most authentic self is the ultimate goal and I'm learning new things about myself every day.

I think as a writer the most important mission is to help others be their authentic self. There's so much more to being an author than writing just for the sake of telling a story and hoping it keeps a reader's attention for a couple of hours. The real goal of a story, the characters, the struggles they face and the things they overcome, is to write in a way that makes a reader feel like you're really with them- on their front porch, riding as the passenger in their car on a long road trip, wherever, and telling them, "You aren't the only one that has felt this way or thought that mean thing or struggled with a weakness that you're too ashamed to admit to anyone. Don't believe me? Let me introduce you to this character that I think you'll be able to relate to."

Yes, people read to escape reality, to have a good laugh, to be swept away by a romance or transported to the future in a dystopian world. But sometimes, I think we read to figure out how to make it through our own lives, and hopefully, how to do life better. Writing creates a space where inspiration and clarity align and provide the key to understanding ourselves and each other. This is the true power that comes from being a writer. Harnessing this power requires not only skill but also empathy, courage, and authenticity to express the human experience with honesty and integrity.

This is my intention. This is my purpose. Keep Shining!

IDKWTS: FEEDBACK WELCOME

Thank you for being willing to share some feedback on my latest work.

As a mother of teenagers with social anxiety, I have drawn from my own experiences to create content I think will be useful to others. Maybe there are experiences you've had yourself or with your teenagers and young adult kids you wish you had a little more guidance on- I'd love to hear from you in the comments!

The purpose of IDKWTS is to help people practice what to say and what to do with short dialogue scripts included in the manual. 

Here are a few links to google docs for you to open, read and comment any feedback.

Introduction

Accepting Compliments

Making Appointments

Conversations and Small Talk

Returning Purchases

A Core Memory Dream: An excerpt from my work in progress, untitled novel

 Looking through tree branches, the view from where she is perched is breathtaking. Flowering trees like the one she’s sitting atop stretch for what seems like miles. A bumble bee rests on her knee and gives a wink, “Hello there,” the bee buzzes, then lifts off to greet another apple blossom.

A hum of laughter draws her attention to the lake just beyond the orchard. There she sees a circle of people sitting on giant logs. There’s a fire spitting sparks as they poke at it with sticks.

“I’d like to join them,” she thinks, as she finds her footing to make her descent.

 In an instant, she’s behind the circle of friends, “Hey guys. Can I join you?” All of them turning their attention to her in unison exclaim, “Amber! Hi! You made it!”

She’s dumbfounded, “Who are these people? How do they know me?”

Taking a seat on the log, she searches their faces trying to remember their names but none of them seem familiar. “They’re all my age, but why don’t I know them? And how do they know me?”

“Amber, you want to roast a marshmallow?” One girl offers her stick with remnants of the last gooey marshmallow that met its fate over the campfire.

Amber watches the marshmallow slowly expand over the heat of the flames before it transforms from snow white to golden brown. She pulls the stick back, having tortured the marshmallow enough, and releases it from its death bed. Popping the toasted pillow into her mouth, soft, sticky sweetness consumes her. It’s so real she thinks, “There’s no way this is a dream.”

An eruption of laughter pulls her back to the moment. Two boys are taking their bows on the imaginary stage in front of the fire. The girls are clapping wildly and shaking off the remaining laughter in their bellies as one boy asks, “Who’s next?” 

Amber thinks, “Next for what?”

Win or Lose

I come from a generation of people who were taught that winning meant getting the job done right and being the best at whatever you were doing. Winning first place was the ultimate goal- second place was okay and third place? Eh, whatever. As a parent of Gen Z kids, I watched them during their grade school years earn medals and certificates just for showing up! At first, I was a little annoyed (don't worry, I didn't let on to the kids I was annoyed- I was a proud mama through and through,) but I'd be lying if I didn't admit, I wish I had gotten medals growing up just for being me and showing up. I was recently reading through my journal from 1997-1998 for a writing project I'm working on, and the theme throughout was, "I'm not good enough. No-one recognizes the good things I do, but they sure as hell jump at the opportunity to acknowledge my mistakes." Now, as a fourteen/fifteen-year-old sullen teenager was I being dramatic? Most likely. Ok, definitely. But at that moment, that was my reality. It's what I felt and believed enough to write in my journal, so...

In the present, I'm learning to rewire the win-or-you-are-a-loser mentality. I'm learning to give myself- and others- more grace and compassion. I'm constantly having to remind myself that doing my best, whatever my best is in that moment or for that day, is an absolute win. I'm learning that recognition from others is not the motive for being successful or winning at life. Being kind and generous is winning. Trying something new is winning. Showing up- especially when you don't feel like it- is winning. Giving our best effort- even if we don't measure up to someone else's best (or our own best)- is still winning. Accept the challenge to do and be your best and you'll always be a winner. Keep trying, keep showing up, keep winning and don't worry if you think no one is taking note. Believe me, they are. And if they're not, remember- it's not about them- do it anyway.

Gloria: A Short Story

   

Approaching the back hatch, dimly lit by the exit sign, Roger stops to adjust his helmet. “Am I really doing this?” A vision of Gloria comes to him. Her auburn hair blowing in the wind, each strand stroking the blue sky like the bristles of an artist’s paintbrush on the canvas. She had an energy no earthly force could stomp out. Even death, its impenetrable walls, could not contain her. She was everywhere. The leaky faucet in the bathroom, dripping incessantly, mimicked the tune she hummed while she worked at her computer. The park where he took his evening run was a forest of trees bearing emerald leaves the color of her eyes.  The coffee brewing in the kitchen, its earthy aroma mingling with notes of lavender, Gloria’s favorite flower, brings her back to him every day. No matter that her time of death was recorded with several witnesses to bear truth to the fact, they could not keep her from sitting at the kitchen table gazing at him over the steam of her morning cup of joe. It's why he had to leave. He could not bear her ghost anymore.

“I’m doing this.” Roger steps off the platform and makes his way down the hatch ladder, his eyes holding fast to the exit. As he descends the ladder, he feels himself moving faster, his body growing lighter, his heart pounding heavier. “There’s no way I can change my mind now,” he reassures himself as he feels Gloria’s hand on his back, pushing him to keep going.

He reaches the exit, places his hand on the handle, pausing briefly only to take one last breath of manufactured oxygen. He exhales and opens the door all in one motion. The light, shockingly bright, immediately forces him to shield his eyes. After a moment of adjustment, he opens his eyes anxiously. He yanks at his helmet’s strap, freeing his head from its constraints.

            One breath in. One breath out. The oxygen is real. He can feel it course through his blood. Butterflies flutter throughout his whole body, bouncing off the walls of his insides, knocking him to the ground. Earth. Quickly removing his gloves as if they are burning his hands, he digs his fingers into the sand grasping at each grain. The prickle and pinch of every granule intensifies as he digs deeper wanting nothing more than to bury himself in it.

            He catches his reflection in the helmet he abandoned moments before. He despised that helmet; the way it limited his vision and kept him from seeing everything around him. Instinctively, he looks around 360 degrees several times before looking back at his hands filled with the sand. “Water. Need water,” his dry throat urging him to move quickly, he gets to his feet clumsily. “Stupid boots,” he says to himself as he kicks the giant, ridiculous marshmallows from his feet. The sand tickles his toes sending shockwaves of electricity up his spine. “It’s good to be home.”

            He walks for a bit, if you can call it walking.  Picturing himself, he must look like a toddler learning for the first time how gravity works. With each step it feels as though he’s crossing a path of slippery stones, the earth beneath him rolling like the hot dog cookers at the ballpark. But after the first fifty yards he feels steadier, gravity no longer playing tricks on him.

            He turns, only once, to look at what he leaves behind. The vessel, cocked oddly at a thirty-degree angle, its invincible steel shell dented and cracked from its bumpy arrival back to earth. The vessel had promised an escape from “All your earthly woes,” Roger recalled regretfully. It held him prisoner far too long but at last, he was free. “What was I thinking?” he shook his head sadly, remembering the lengths he had gone to so he could escape her ghost. “Gloria. My sweet Gloria. I’m so sorry. I could not live without you, but living with your ghost was more than I could bear.”

            Down just a bit further, Roger spots the river with cool rushing water. He stumbles down the hill, his parched mouth begging for a drink urging him to go faster- faster! He collapses at the river’s edge and crawls awkwardly into the water. Gulping water and splashing his face, its icy refreshment piercing him like daggers, he takes one last deep breath before submerging himself.

            There he remains, surrounded by a liquid blanket, until he can feel his heartbeat slow. Just under the surface, the water muffles all his senses except for one. Touch. The softness of the water reminds him of Gloria’s hand caressing his cheek. An odd warmth fills his body despite the icy waters. But there’s no mistake, he can feel her hand upon his face. He doesn’t dare open his eyes for fear that it will mean trading his sense of touch for his sense of sight. He knows it is her hand that rests upon his face. He remembers exactly how her skin felt, how small her hand was, how her heartbeat seemed to pulse through her fingers and vibrate within him when she touched him. He longed to stay in this moment forever, but his lungs began to burn. Dizziness enveloped him and he had no choice but to make his way back to the surface for air.          

Breaking through the surface, his lungs were satisfied to breathe, but his heart cursed his lungs for it. “I wanted to stay. I wanted you to stay, Gloria,” tears filling his eyes, blurring his sight. “I could not breathe, and my heart burned with the fire of hell. The more I breathed, the more the oxygen fueled the fire within my heart. I had to leave, Gloria!  I had to find a way to breathe and not feel as though my heart would erupt. I’m so sorry, Gloria.”

            Roger forced his way to the shore, his tears mixing with the river’s water on his face. Pulling himself to dry land, he rubbed his eyes and shook the water from his hair. Unsure what to do next, he sat motionless in the sand still recovering from depriving himself of oxygen. With every breath he drew he braced himself for his heart’s hellfire to ignite again.

 In. Out. In. Out.

 But there was nothing. Not even a spark seemed to light. He breathed in deeper, exhaled heavier, waiting for the pain.

            In. Out. In. Out.

            Then finally, he felt it- the pain he remembered from before. As it intensified slowly, he could feel it rumbling within him like thunder chasing a dark rain cloud. But confusion took over when he realized the pain wasn’t how he remembered it. At that moment a strange memory began to play out in his mind. A snow-globe perched on the top shelf of his mother’s China hutch with a disfigured black creature inside. He rubbed his temples trying to remember what it was. “A winged animal of some kind- ah yes, a raven,” he finally concludes. As a child he hated that snow-globe. No matter where he stood in the dining room or where he sat to eat his meals, that damn raven would find him and stare menacingly at him. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he recalled the ominous raven.

He remembered his mother finding him at the dining table one day looking at the raven snow-globe, his vexing expression giving it away how much it troubled him.  Pulling the globe off the hutch and sitting beside him with the snow-globe she shook it and said, “See, darling?” his mother’s gentle voice cooed, as tiny black birds appeared, swirling around the raven. The sunlight shining through the window caught the wings of each floating bird creating a sparkling effect making the dreadful raven look a bit less ominous- somewhat beautiful, albeit in a strange way. “Sometimes we just need to let in the light and trust that the darkness isn’t as bad as we think.”

The throbbing ache in his heart jerked him back to the present where he was still trying to make sense of this new pain. Its usual razor-like edges seemed strangely dull. He imagined the pain, encapsulated like the raven inside his mother’s snow-globe. The grief and pain of losing Gloria- like the grim raven cemented inside the globe, was not going anywhere. Escaping was not the answer. He knew that now. The memory of her laugh, the smell of her perfume, the warmth of her hand on his cheek- like the tiny black birds surrounding the raven- were there to soften the pain, to dull its edges, if only he’d let the light in.

Sunlight bursting through the clouds encouraged him to stand. He felt Gloria take his hand as he stepped away from the river and left the broken vessel behind him. The light followed him as he made his trek home. He no longer wanted to escape Gloria’s ghost. No, he wanted nothing more than to feel her, see her, smell her- real or imagined- it made no difference now. The air he breathed was the oxygen needed to fuel his heart’s burning fire but without it, Gloria wouldn’t be real. The fire he felt within him was Gloria. The pain he felt was her love- love he could not live without. Gloria. She would be with him forever right alongside the pain. Without the pain there would be no Gloria. Without Gloria, there would be no pain. He had to accept them both.

Finally, they reached the park with its trees of emerald leaves. Roger looked down the path and saw home straight ahead. Gloria, releasing his hand, skipped joyfully ahead of him. Looking over her shoulder she called to him, “Well are you coming, or you just gonna stand there like a space monkey?” She teased and turned again to face home.

 “Space monkey,” he laughed to himself.

He caught up to Gloria after a quick jog and wrapped his arm around her waist as a flock of tiny black birds descended from the trees. Whirling through the air, they darted between the two of them, forcing him to release her. Roger watched as they dispersed just as quickly as they had come. Only a second had passed before he returned his attention to Gloria, but she was nowhere to be found. He frantically searched in all directions. Still, no Gloria. The birds made a swift return, swirling around him once more before flying off into the trees again. This time as they departed, they transformed themselves miraculously right before his eyes. Above him, an image of Gloria sketched in the sky. He blinked back tears and looked again to be sure. Yes, there in the sky, he could see the tiny black birds- the sun sparkling off their glistening wings- reminding him, “Let the light in, Roger.”

            “No more escaping, Gloria. I promise. You and me, air and fire, pain and love, all of it, always.”