Old hurt still chooses how quickly I apologize

Dear Delyara, I noticed again this week how fast apology still arrives in me. Before blame. Before objection. Before anyone has even fully reacted. It’s as if some part of me still believes the safest way to exist is to soften my own presence in advance, to pre-empt friction by becoming smaller before the room has a chance to tell me it would prefer me that way. That reflex did not come from nowhere. And that is what makes it sad. Some old wounds don’t scream. They just rearrange your first response.