<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/2166516186_684951e91a.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-full wp-image-319" title="2166516186_684951e91a" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/2166516186_684951e91a.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="333" /></a>
<h5 style="padding-left: 360px;">Photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/dnorman/">D'Arcy Norman</a></h5>
<strong>Saying "I'm sorry" has always been really difficult for me.</strong>

Even when I was a little girl—maybe 10 or 12—it was hard. I remember my mom coming into my room, after we had gotten into some sort of argument. She would sit on my bed, where I had most likely been crying, and tell me she was sorry.

We both felt terrible and both had reason to say "I'm sorry," but it seemed almost impossible for me. Even if I was <em>determined</em> to say it, and willed myself to say it, the words always seemed to get stuck when I opened my mouth.

I've spent many years thinking about that, and trying to dig to the core of whatever makes me stubborn in that way. Thankfully, I've made a lot of progress, but those two words have never just rolled off my tongue.

<strong>Anyone who has gone through a divorce can probably attest to the heaps of wrongs that gradually pile up like garbage at a dump.</strong> The little hurts and angers, when collected over time, become mountains.

Saying "I'm sorry"—if you can even muster up the courage to step out in front of your own pain and say it with sincerity—seems like such a small thing in the face of such an overwhelming mess. It feels like you've taken just a few steps up that huge mountain of trash, and then, exhausted, set up camp for the night. There's so far to go, it's easy to feel defeated and hopeless before you even begin.
<h4>Saying "I'm sorry" is more than a one-time verbal act</h4>
Gradually, since my divorce, I've learned an amazing thing—several amazing things, actually, but here's what I learned about healing: <strong>The expression of sorrow and regret and forgiveness can't just be spoken in words, in a single moment. It's a process, that must be lived out in small actions over a great stretch of time.</strong> For some people, that might seem <em>more</em> daunting, but for me, it feels more doable—and more real.

<strong>Yesterday was the sort of day filled with grace and forgiveness, even though no one said "I'm sorry."</strong> There were no tense or awkward moments, or verbal acceptances of apologies. There was just life, being lived in a simple and harmonious way—first with my ex-husband in the morning, and then with Jason's ex-wife that afternoon.

At 9 a.m., S had her first soccer game, which was a big, exciting deal for all of us (if you missed it last month, check out the post <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=298">Parenting is not a spectator sport</a>). The girls were with their "other parents" this weekend, so just Jason and I (and Maeve the pup) headed over to the soccer field.

We were a bit scattered, and hadn't thought to bring a blanket or chairs; of course, the field they were playing on was one without bleachers. Q, our middle daughter, was sitting on a big blanket with her dad and stepmom, and was eager to bond with our new dog. My ex invited us to share their blanket, and we spent the hour together, chatting, doting on Maeve, cheering on S's team, and just sitting comfortably together in the morning sunshine.

<strong>That's what forgiveness <em>looks</em> like, and <em>feels</em> like.</strong>

Later, after a trip to the gym and some lunch, Jason and I went to the home of his ex-wife R, her partner B, and their baby N. We had been invited to celebrate N's first birthday. (If you're confused about our friendship with R and B, dig back in the archives and read <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=8">A road trip with my husband's ex-wife</a>.)

It was a gorgeous day, and the party was in the yard. We sat and talked in the afternoon sunshine, drinking wine. We showered the birthday boy with attention, and watched him open presents. Our little Maeve was introduced to R &amp; B's enormous beast of a dog, the two of them creating a very entertaining sight. Then everyone ate cake and, as the late afternoon sun drooped, causing us to reach for our sweaters, we headed for home.

That's what forgiveness <em>looks</em> like, and <em>feels</em> like. Cake and laughter and conversation and a baby to celebrate.

And I'm so glad I'm learning about that other side of forgiveness—the inch by inch, day by day side. <strong>I'm not suggesting that the words "I'm sorry" aren't incredibly important. I'm just starting to think that saying those two words, and then walking away like everything's all better, generally doesn't cut it on its own.</strong>

That quick-fix approach won't take us nearly as far up the mountain of hurt and anger—the one that we desperately need to get over if we're to find a land of grace.