This article is from the source 'guardian' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.
You can find the current article at its original source at https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2017/jun/20/sorry-not-hardest-word-healthiest-empowering-complete-arse
The article has changed 7 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.
| Version 1 | Version 2 |
|---|---|
| Do you want to feel much better right now? Say sorry | Do you want to feel much better right now? Say sorry |
| (7 months later) | |
| Making a decision not to apologise can feel empowering. But – as my teenage sons have learned – it can also leave you with the sense of being a complete arse | |
| Tue 20 Jun 2017 20.13 BST | |
| Last modified on Mon 27 Nov 2017 21.30 GMT | |
| Share on Facebook | |
| Share on Twitter | |
| Share via Email | |
| View more sharing options | |
| Share on LinkedIn | |
| Share on Pinterest | |
| Share on Google+ | |
| Share on WhatsApp | |
| Share on Messenger | |
| Close | |
| I’m terribly sorry about this. I mean, I do realise the last thing you need right now is another piece of opinion. If you’ve been upset by the headline, I can only apologise. With luck we will be able to put this behind us, while agreeing that this one is very much on me. | I’m terribly sorry about this. I mean, I do realise the last thing you need right now is another piece of opinion. If you’ve been upset by the headline, I can only apologise. With luck we will be able to put this behind us, while agreeing that this one is very much on me. |
| The latest edition of New Scientist draws together several recent pieces of research into the art and effectiveness of saying sorry, and analyses how a decent bit of heartfelt grovelling affects the mood and self-esteem of the apologiser. The journalist Moya Sarner notes that studies contradict the belief that apologising undermines our personal authority. Career coaches, not unreasonably, tell you to remove all trace of by-the-rote regret from your work emails; it’s not your fault that you’re having to chase for something that was promised three days ago, so stop implying otherwise. But research seems to suggest that we overestimate the costs of contrition while underestimating its benefits; apologising increases people’s self-esteem and makes the petitioner feel more powerful. Frustratingly, though, refusing to apologise had exactly the same reported outcomes. | The latest edition of New Scientist draws together several recent pieces of research into the art and effectiveness of saying sorry, and analyses how a decent bit of heartfelt grovelling affects the mood and self-esteem of the apologiser. The journalist Moya Sarner notes that studies contradict the belief that apologising undermines our personal authority. Career coaches, not unreasonably, tell you to remove all trace of by-the-rote regret from your work emails; it’s not your fault that you’re having to chase for something that was promised three days ago, so stop implying otherwise. But research seems to suggest that we overestimate the costs of contrition while underestimating its benefits; apologising increases people’s self-esteem and makes the petitioner feel more powerful. Frustratingly, though, refusing to apologise had exactly the same reported outcomes. |
| There is a glorious honesty in a principled refusal to apologise. The country’s playgrounds are full of parents howling “Say sorry properly!” to trenchant four-year-olds who will not comply because they are literal little souls who have been told not to lie and because, frankly, they enjoyed pushing that other kid over. As an adult, making a conscious decision to not apologise can feel incredibly empowering. Only yesterday I firmly did not apologise after I allowed my supermarket trolley to ram into a man who had looked me straight in the eye before setting his on a collision course with mine. It was aggressive, it felt preferable to ceding gracefully, and it turned out to be the most fun you can have in Waitrose, apart from rummaging around in the fresh-food discount section at 6.45pm. | There is a glorious honesty in a principled refusal to apologise. The country’s playgrounds are full of parents howling “Say sorry properly!” to trenchant four-year-olds who will not comply because they are literal little souls who have been told not to lie and because, frankly, they enjoyed pushing that other kid over. As an adult, making a conscious decision to not apologise can feel incredibly empowering. Only yesterday I firmly did not apologise after I allowed my supermarket trolley to ram into a man who had looked me straight in the eye before setting his on a collision course with mine. It was aggressive, it felt preferable to ceding gracefully, and it turned out to be the most fun you can have in Waitrose, apart from rummaging around in the fresh-food discount section at 6.45pm. |
| But a true apology for an infraction you know you cannot excuse or justify will lift a giant weight. Why lose sleep and endure a sickening feeling when instead you can phone and say: “Do you know what? I have a feeling I’ve been a complete arse.” Even if the other party tells you to get lost, the burden is gone; it’s the faith-free version of confession. Those who research apologies (apologists?) theorise that this may be because we feel we have stayed true to our own values, shoring up our most flattering ideas about ourselves. | But a true apology for an infraction you know you cannot excuse or justify will lift a giant weight. Why lose sleep and endure a sickening feeling when instead you can phone and say: “Do you know what? I have a feeling I’ve been a complete arse.” Even if the other party tells you to get lost, the burden is gone; it’s the faith-free version of confession. Those who research apologies (apologists?) theorise that this may be because we feel we have stayed true to our own values, shoring up our most flattering ideas about ourselves. |
| A true apology for an infraction you know you cannot excuse or justify will lift a giant weight | A true apology for an infraction you know you cannot excuse or justify will lift a giant weight |
| Genuine remorse often requires a measure of empathy. My sons, approaching their mid-teens, have only recently started sidling around the living room door to say sorry, unbidden, and not only because the pocket money has dried up. Each time it happens I realise they have been sitting in their rooms thinking: “Perhaps the shouty lady has a point.” The celebrated British habit of apologising when someone drops their suitcase on your toe may in fact be an authentic expression of empathy with the other person’s embarrassment: “I’m sorry that I’ve witnessed you being a clumsy human. I hereby promise to wipe your face from my memory bank.” | Genuine remorse often requires a measure of empathy. My sons, approaching their mid-teens, have only recently started sidling around the living room door to say sorry, unbidden, and not only because the pocket money has dried up. Each time it happens I realise they have been sitting in their rooms thinking: “Perhaps the shouty lady has a point.” The celebrated British habit of apologising when someone drops their suitcase on your toe may in fact be an authentic expression of empathy with the other person’s embarrassment: “I’m sorry that I’ve witnessed you being a clumsy human. I hereby promise to wipe your face from my memory bank.” |
| Other apologies, of course, will simply mean: “I’m sorry that you’re such an enormous oaf.” Because apologising is a complex thing, capable of multiple meanings and motives. A friend of mine, skilled in public-facing roles, uses apologies to defuse. Her opening line to her most furiously unreasonable interlocutors is always: “I’m so sorry. The last thing I wanted to do when I woke up this morning was upset you.” This has the benefit of being entirely true – usually because she has never met them before – and she delivers it with such conviction that they come to a halt, enabling her to complete the task in hand without any further unpleasantness. Her facility with the many ways to say sorry makes it near impossible to apologise to her with a straight face, which is a shame for me because I forgot her birthday recently. I’m sorry, Sarah. I have a feeling I’ve been an arse. | Other apologies, of course, will simply mean: “I’m sorry that you’re such an enormous oaf.” Because apologising is a complex thing, capable of multiple meanings and motives. A friend of mine, skilled in public-facing roles, uses apologies to defuse. Her opening line to her most furiously unreasonable interlocutors is always: “I’m so sorry. The last thing I wanted to do when I woke up this morning was upset you.” This has the benefit of being entirely true – usually because she has never met them before – and she delivers it with such conviction that they come to a halt, enabling her to complete the task in hand without any further unpleasantness. Her facility with the many ways to say sorry makes it near impossible to apologise to her with a straight face, which is a shame for me because I forgot her birthday recently. I’m sorry, Sarah. I have a feeling I’ve been an arse. |
| Psychology | |
| Opinion | |
| Family | |
| comment | |
| Share on Facebook | |
| Share on Twitter | |
| Share via Email | |
| Share on LinkedIn | |
| Share on Pinterest | |
| Share on Google+ | |
| Share on WhatsApp | |
| Share on Messenger | |
| Reuse this content |