I said things in anger that were cruel and unfair. I said things that were not just harsh, they were untrue. In particular, I made statements about character and confidence that were mean and not something I believe reflects the truth. I was hurt and angry, but that does not justify my words. I am sorry.

I crossed a line. No defense. No explanation. No excuse. I crossed it. That was wrong of me.

Truth delivered as an attack, in contempt, is no truth at all. It is just mean. "Truth" does not equal "wise." "Truth" does not equal "necessary." "Truth" does not equal "mine to say." “Truth” is not a shield that allows me to say hurtful things however I want. Emotionally charged statements are not wise, necessary, or fair to say in any moment. I am seeking temperance through my writing. A real reflection on what it means to be kind, what truth is, and how to repair what has been broken.

I can be wounded and become cruel. That is the issue I need to address here. This chapter is about recognizing the moment when anger disguises itself as clarity, when pain turns defensive, and when defensive pain becomes attack.

The things I said were cruel. Some of them were not only harsh, they were completely wrong. That is difficult to admit because anger always has a justification ready. It tells me I am finally telling the truth. It tells me I am standing up for myself. It tells me the other person needs to hear it. But truth delivered in contempt is not truth anymore. It is pain trying to win.

I wanted to be heard and understood, and instead I hurt someone. I used language that does not reflect what I believe. I said things I do not agree with. I made an already painful situation worse by adding cruelty to it. I crossed a line.

The fact that I was hurt does not excuse my behavior. The fact that I felt unheard does not excuse or justify. The fact that some part of me wanted to defend myself does not excuse my words turned weapons.

I knew better, but I was not living from what I knew. I was told that I should have known. The harder pill to swallow is that I did know. This is the tragedy that hits my sense of self, my integrity, my core belief in myself as a good man. I acted outside of what I knew to be right. I was not acting within my own principles. I let anger become my excuse. I let emotions become my excuse. I let my hurt loose on another, and I hid behind the hurt as justification. Hurt people hurt people, or so the saying goes. Somehow, in the pain, I twisted that into logical permission.

Very recently, I sat with a young man who shared how he had taken actions in a relationship that he knew were wrong. He struggled with the same question I am struggling with now: how could I do something I knew was so wrong? We both knew better, but there we were, after the fact, trying to make sense of how we acted so far outside who we believed ourselves to be. It happened. I did those things. I said that mean shit. I hurt someone with my words, and some part of me intended to hurt. But why? Because of an immature desire to win? I masked that intention with an excuse, a fucking "reason." That is not right. I do know better. That desire to win caused me to lose.

I do not think our final answers to that question will be the same, but the struggle was nearly indistinguishable. Across cultures, across ages, across very different lives, there it was: terror, struggle, dissonance.

The terror of seeing ourselves act against ourselves, becoming something very different from who we thought we were. The struggle to make sense of the senseless. The dissonance of a mind that needs congruence.

The question underneath it all keeps repeating in my mind: Who am I, if I can betray what I know?

I am not sure there are perfect words for this. Even if there are perfect words, I don't have them. I have imperfect words and a willingness to keep trying until I get it right. I let my hurt take over, and I said something about confidence that was completely wrong. Not just poorly phrased. Not just harsh. Completely wrong, unfair, and uncalled for.

I said something that turned my pain into judgment. I took an intimate wound and spoke carelessly, knowing the effect, knowing it would hurt. I cannot unsay it. I cannot reset the moment. I cannot make the words disappear because I regret them now. I cannot undo what has been done.

That is part of the consequence.

I want forgiveness. Of course I do. I want the clean slate, the reset, the moment before the damage. I want to go back and choose silence, or kindness, or breath, or fucking anything but the hurtful action I took. But repair does not begin with my desire to be forgiven. Repair begins with my willingness to see clearly what I did. I am willing. The repair starts with my willingness, but it is completed, if it is completed, by the other person. That's where my control ends. I cannot control another into forgiving me, understanding me, or giving me another chance.

My words were an attempt at control. I see that now. I see how I attempted to control by saying some mean shit to get a response. That was control. That was manipulation. I fucked that up. I did not understand that piece before. Maybe I could not allow myself to see it. If I saw that, it makes me the problem in that moment, the moment when I was hurting, and in that moment, I wanted them to know they were the reason I was hurting. I wanted them to be the problem. How could I be the problem? Good question. And here's the answer: I became the problem when I crossed the line into hurtful commentary designed to get a reaction. I became the controller, the manipulator, and all those things I do not see myself as being.

I was hurt. I felt hope being ripped away. I heard words about a future that would never happen, a friendship that was no longer possible, children we would never have, growing old together became growing apart. I panicked. I freaked the fuck out, man. I grasped at connection out of fear, and I grasped in all the wrong ways, even unhealthy connection. Something in me wanted to answer pain with pain. So I grabbed my weapons and attacked. I told myself I had a reason.

But my reason was not a reason. It was not an excuse. It was pain.

I want to repair what can be repaired. I must also admit that I am not fully steady yet. I am not ready to pretend friendship is so simple. I cannot promise that all my growth has become instinct. I will always be practicing. I will always be coachable. I am always learning. The practice begins in my head before it reaches my hands, my mouth, my emotional response.

Kindness is not yet always my first response. Sometimes my first response is still the desperate need to be understood. Sometimes I reach for defense before tenderness. Sometimes I confuse being heard with being safe.

That is what I am practicing now. This practice became more than an apology. This evolved into a redefinition of the person I am trying to become.

I am learning to pause before I defend. To think before I speak (or write publicly). To breathe before I wound. To let kindness arrive before the desire to win does. To understand that repair is not cool in the old way. It is not dominance, detachment, cleverness, or winning.

I feel a need to redefine what "cool" is. It has been said to be cool is to put the head down and work and work and work some more toward goals, to accomplish, to succeed, to make money, to look good, to have an outward appearance of cool. Fuck all that surface level, fuck the mask. This is cool now: emotional courage, connection, repair, kindness, gentleness, love. The ability to stay soft when hurt. The ability to tell the truth without turning it into weaponized words. The ability to be wounded and refuse cruelty, to be hurt and respond with tenderness and compassion.

I am not there all the time.

But I am here, in this moment, not promising, just practicing. This is progress, not perfection.

The Apology:

I said things in anger that were cruel, unfair, and untrue. In particular, I made statements about their character and confidence that were mean and do not reflect what I actually believe. I am sorry.

I was hurt, but being hurt does not justify cruelty. I crossed a line. No defense. No explanation. No excuse. I crossed it, and that was wrong. I am sorry.

I discovered something difficult about myself in this process: I can be wounded and become cruel. That is mine to deal with, not theirs. I put my pain on them. I am sorry.

I made things worse. I added pain to the pain that was already present. I am sorry.

The specific thing I most need to repair is the comment about confidence. I said that sexy comes from confidence and that they did not have confidence. That was cruel, untrue, and unfair. I hate that I said it. I am sorry.

I was angry and trying to make a point, but that point should never have been made. It was not loving. It was not kind. It was not even true. It was me using words as a weapon. I am sorry.

I do not believe they are lacking in desirability, beauty, sexiness, or worth. I do not believe confidence is some test they failed. I said something that could only wound. I am sorry.