The currency of 'sorry'

We're worth more than the sum of our sorries.

Recovery isn’t a checklist. I learned that the hard way.

When I first walked into Narcotics Anonymous, I thought I was going to ace the program. The 12 Steps looked simple enough. Admit my life was unmanageable? Done. Believe in a higher power? Done—hi, Mom. Surrender my will to that higher power? Done again—hello, Mother. Easy.

Then came Step 9: Make direct amends to such people wherever possible. That sounded straightforward. I had hurt a handful of people—my mother, my sister, my (mercifully) former partner. So I apologized. Heartfelt, sincere, the whole package. Step 9 complete. Or so I thought.

What I didn’t realize was that people don’t finish the Steps. They work them. Some had been clean for years and were still on Number 9. Why? I had already come clean. I had already said I was sorry. Why keep circling back?

It was somewhere around the billionth “sorry” to my former partner that I started to clue in. My apologies were worthless. Over the years, I had devalued that currency to the level of an Uzbekistan som. (At the time of writing, you could get 9,010.89 soms for one Canadian dollar.) I had spent “sorry” too freely, and now it was worth nothing.

That’s the thing about addiction: we forfeit the privilege of “sorry.” For most people, an apology is a valid passport. Step on a toe in the grocery store, eat the last scoop of ice cream, leave the empty carton in the freezer—apology accepted. But for addicts, “sorry” is counterfeit. We spent it too often, and it no longer buys forgiveness.

At a recent meeting, someone gave us a clinic on how to make the perfect apology: face the person, look them in the eye, be humble, be specific. When I got home, my mom wouldn’t even let me try.

“I don’t want your sorries,” she said.

“I want you to show me. Show me the person you were always meant to be.”