Six Apologies Later

It took two days to shake off the reprimand - it had been harsh, unexpected, unwarranted - and rather than protest or fight back or even defend myself I had simply shut down.  The injury was being scolded and unjustly punished.  The insult, which, to be clear, I added myself, was accepting it - seething with resentment - but accepting it. Where is the old woman who wears purple when I really need her, I wondered.

The doctor, of course, had spit his venom out and immediately moved on as soon as his temper tantrum was over.  Six apologies later, however, I was still feeling bitterly put upon and angry, a childhood holdover I can't seem to let go of.  Too often blamed for or accused of things I didn't do as a child, I came to be frightened of raised voices and I didn't suffer being punished at all well.  Why, I still wonder, is it necessary to demean and verbally abuse someone to make a point?  And the apologies....well, they were a little on the hollow side, all laced with what he considers his brand of Epsom Salts humor - no admission of wrongdoing, just a simple poultice to remove the sting of his tone of voice - as if to say, My only error was in expressing myself badly.
I can't help but wonder if he really believes words have so little power. 

My mother was fond of inflicting punishment physically - as long as my daddy wasn't home - but it was her words that cut the deepest and caused the most damage.  The bruises healed over, disappeared, or faded with time but the verbal abuse left permanent marks.  The scars of her jealousy and resentment and bullying never did.  Like the doctor, she rarely took the time to find out the truth or the facts, self righteously jumping in with both feet before she tested the water, condemning with an arrogant imperialism common in bad parents and bad employers.  Like the doctor, she wore us down with time and pressure and the inability to please. Unlike the doctor, she never lowered herself to an apology, false or otherwise.

So I take the verbal beating, trying to convince myself that all that really matters is that I know I'm innocent, telling myself that my knowing is enough.

 It isn't, but it's what I tell myself.

Later, when he realizes he was rude and unfair, hotheaded and just plain wrong - when he tries to make it up to me - I'll be casually gracious and tell him it doesn't matter.

I'll tell him I understand and have already forgotten it.   I don't and I haven't, but it's what I'll tell him.