Being Wrong
An old boyfriend of mine used to quote the movie “Love Story” whenever he fucked up: “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” That infamous quote has surely plagued more relationships than it has helped (yeah, thanks a lot, Ali McGraw, for giving us women that character to live up to). I thought it was a load of tripe, and told him so, and then refused to say I’m sorry, on the grounds that, according to him, I shouldn’t have to. So there!
Yeah, okay, I’m childish, but at least I don’t go looking to movies for relationship advice. We had our problems. He was an unrealistic romantic, someone who thinks that love conquers all and all that crap. I was a pragmatist with a deep seated secret romantic side – I wanted to believe all the things he thought were true, but couldn’t quite make that leap, for the same reason that I can’t believe in God or the afterlife. It just doesn’t have the ring of truth about it for me.
Here’s my slight modification to the quote: “Love means being very good at saying you’re sorry.” Anyone who has been in a long-term relationship will understand that the ability to say I’m sorry when you fuck up is crucial to the success of said relationship. For a very, very long time (and still sometimes) I felt like saying 'I'm sorry' was the same as saying I was wrong, which is something almost impossible for me to do (say I'm wrong, not be wrong - that is all too possible, very often probable). I have this notion, planted deep within me during childhood, that to admit I was wrong is a weakness, a chink in my armor that will allow people to get to me. It gets easier, the older I get, the more I do it, but I still have that gut reaction when I realize, in an argument, or a discussion, that I am in fact, wrong. The instinct to hide that fact with some bravado and some accusations, turn the tables, change the subject, and if worse comes to worse, use my sarcasm to hurt, hurt, hurt. After all, if someone is hurting, they'll probably forget that I am wrong, and in fact, will probably be too hurt to hurt me.
Yikes. This is getting way too deep for Sunday morning. I'm still on my first cup of tea. Yeah, that's it, I'll blame my brooding state on a lack of caffeination. After all, I couldn't just be wrong.
Yeah, okay, I’m childish, but at least I don’t go looking to movies for relationship advice. We had our problems. He was an unrealistic romantic, someone who thinks that love conquers all and all that crap. I was a pragmatist with a deep seated secret romantic side – I wanted to believe all the things he thought were true, but couldn’t quite make that leap, for the same reason that I can’t believe in God or the afterlife. It just doesn’t have the ring of truth about it for me.
Here’s my slight modification to the quote: “Love means being very good at saying you’re sorry.” Anyone who has been in a long-term relationship will understand that the ability to say I’m sorry when you fuck up is crucial to the success of said relationship. For a very, very long time (and still sometimes) I felt like saying 'I'm sorry' was the same as saying I was wrong, which is something almost impossible for me to do (say I'm wrong, not be wrong - that is all too possible, very often probable). I have this notion, planted deep within me during childhood, that to admit I was wrong is a weakness, a chink in my armor that will allow people to get to me. It gets easier, the older I get, the more I do it, but I still have that gut reaction when I realize, in an argument, or a discussion, that I am in fact, wrong. The instinct to hide that fact with some bravado and some accusations, turn the tables, change the subject, and if worse comes to worse, use my sarcasm to hurt, hurt, hurt. After all, if someone is hurting, they'll probably forget that I am wrong, and in fact, will probably be too hurt to hurt me.
Yikes. This is getting way too deep for Sunday morning. I'm still on my first cup of tea. Yeah, that's it, I'll blame my brooding state on a lack of caffeination. After all, I couldn't just be wrong.
Labels: just philosophizing
posted by erin | 9:23 AM
2 Comments:
Oh god. That stinging shameful feeling when I realize I've been defending a ridiculous point. Makes me do the worst things (sometimes, like a four-year-old, I hit), especially if someone calls me on my wrongness. And Eric has never shied away from doing just that. Which means I'm very lucky he's stuck around long enough for me to learn that forcing myself to stop in the middle of an argument and calmly admit I'm being stupid will not permanently damage my pride or credibility. It's excruciating to do that though, and the majority of our very few fights start when I refuse to back down.
Yikes. Time for my first cup of tea.
My husband never says he sorry until I do first. I don't think there is enough tea for how horrible it can be.
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