Sometimes the hardest part isn't saying an apology, but forgiving yourself.
When I was in Kindergarten, I was determined to be the best.
The best student.
The best friend.
The best reader.
Sometime in the fall, my class was outside for recess and I was reading near the teachers(as usual).
I saw a few of my friends near the edge of the playground, and for once, decided to join them.
When I walked up to the kids, I saw they were throwing rocks and pebbles near a car. I thought we were seeing how far we could throw, and joined in. I had fit in perfectly with the teachers so far, but not so much with the other kids. I wanted to fit in. The teachers eventually noticed us and made us apologize to the librarian, who's car we came close to hitting. The other kids didn't care about apologizing and muttered a "Sorry." And walked away. I, however, was sobbing and begging for the librarian to forgive me. Of course she did, as she knew me from church and knew I wouldn't hit her car on purpose.
That day I told myself it would be "ok", and tried to forget the episode; I was ashamed. Eight years later, I still remember that day vividly. Eight years later, I still got mad at myself for joining the crowd.
To read more, join me over on (in)courage today?