When “I’m Sorry” Isn’t Enough

Let me tell you about one of my wife and I’s recurring conflicts from a while back.

Alyssa is a responsible, on time person. 

I am becoming one.

Earlier in our marriage, I would be going out with a friend. 

“I’ll be home at 7:15,” I’d say.

In my head, what that meant was, “I could be home around 7:15.”

She’d hear: “He’ll be home at 7:15.”

Lo and behold, I’d lose track of time, and shoot her a text: “Running late. Home at 7:35.”

I’d get a short text back: “Okay.” The kind of short text when you know something’s wrong.

Then, I’d prepare a defense for when I got home. “I haven’t seen Luke in a while,” or, “We were in an important conversation.”

I’d step through the threshold of our apartment and ready myself for my explanation, which would, of course, never land the way I’d imagine.

Over the course of a conversation, she’d maturely explain to me the real issue: it didn’t show respect to her or communicate that I valued our time. She just needed an update sooner.

Her needs completely valid, my error entirely clear, I’d (eventually) offer two small words:

“I’m sorry.”

Why Repair Requires More

But what about the hurts that need more? What about when sorry doesn’t erase the sting?

In my work as a couple’s therapist, I’ve seen firsthand the difference true repair makes. The kind that actually heals what got hurt (or begins to), and brings couples into deeper connection than before.

It usually starts with some form of, “I’m sorry,” but it doesn’t end there.

In the stereotypical scenes of parents forcing siblings to apologize to each other, one sibling’s half-hearted apology is usually followed by a parent’s prodding of, “Sorry…for?”

There’s a hidden attachment principle reflected in that simple question: we can’t truly repair hurt that we haven’t first fully named, witnessed, and engaged.

This is why “I’m sorry” in many cases is critical but insufficient. It acknowledges some form of wrongdoing, but doesn’t offer curiosity or true engagement around the harm that was caused.

Engagement goes beyond, “Here’s where I was coming from.” It’s less focused on explaining our good intentions and cares more about understanding the impact we had, regardless.

It moves into the other person’s experience around what happened. It learns and owns our role. It carves out space to hear the meaning, impact, or importance of what happened.

It’s about “I’m sorry” and “I want to know what that was like for you.”

It matters because if our pain isn’t witnessed and heard, we struggle to move back into healthy connection. Without repair, the relationships we’re made for are threatened.

Five Questions To Ask

Here are five questions to consider asking when seeking to do repair:

1. Will you tell me about your experience of what happened?

2. What were you feeling when that happened? 

3. What was the message or story my behavior communicated to you? 

4. Is there more to this for you than I’m seeing now? (ex: a deeper history)

5. How can I can help you feel cared for now, or prevent this in the future?

The goal here isn’t to offer robotic or perfectly manicured scripts; it’s to offer language that allows us to engage well with the other person’s hurt.

It also isn’t automatically ignoring our side of what happened; it’s recognizing the time for sharing our point-of-view or intentions needs to come later, not at the beginning.

This, for many reasons, isn’t easy. For starters, many (if not most) of us did not grow up in homes where authentic repair was experienced or modeled.

We may fear if we make space for the other person’s experience, all we’ll get is attacked (rather than their vulnerability). Or, we might struggle to support ourselves through all the feelings that come with hearing how we hurt someone.

It also requires us to notice our natural tendencies towards defensiveness, offering explanations, or withdrawing when we learn we’ve hurt the ones we love.

I teach couples the acronym F-A-D-E to remember four impulses to avoid when responding:

• F - Fix 

• A -Analyze

• D - Defend 

• E - Explain 

All of these are strategies that protect ourselves at the cost of the other person’s experience.

It hurts us when we hurt others. It’s hard to respond with care. And yet, we must.

Sending a Clear Signal

Ultimately, our imperfect efforts to listen to and validate the pain we may cause others are about sending a signal to those around us that says: 

“I will be accountable for my actions and how they impact you, even when I didn’t intend to hurt you. You can tell me about how I’ve affected you, and even when it’s hard, I’ll be here to listen because I care about your feelings. Being connected to you is more important to me than being right.”

That’s why I’m now trying, failing, and trying again to offer more to Alyssa than, “I’m sorry.” (It’s why I’m also working hard to be on time. Both matter!).

The goal isn’t to never have ruptures, but to repair them when we do.

When done well, repair doesn’t just put back together what got torn apart.

It makes our relationships even stronger than they were before.

When Therapy Isn’t Helping

“I’m in therapy… so why am I still stuck?”
“I’m doing the work — so why do I still feel the same?”
“I talk every week… but my life looks no different.”

These are phrases I hear in my office from clients at every stage of the therapy process. And if I’m honest, they’re thoughts I’ve had in my own therapy journey too.

So why is it that we can show up to therapy and still not see much change or hope?

I often think of therapy like going to the gym. Just because I go to the gym doesn’t mean I’m getting stronger. It’s what I’m doing in the gym — and outside of it — that builds strength and capacity.

Therapy can be deeply transformative. But change doesn’t happen automatically, like taking a pill. Therapy is a process. And when we feel stuck, it’s rarely because we aren’t trying hard enough.

So what is it about?

What I’ve come to believe is this: if therapy doesn’t feel like it’s “working,” it’s because the work is missing something essential — your personal agency and focused intention.

Here are five possible reasons you might feel stuck in therapy — and shifts that can help you move toward greater agency and clarity.

#1: You’re in therapy to fix someone else.

This is often true when most of the session centers around someone else — your spouse, your kids, your coworkers or your circumstances.

It can feel cathartic to vent. Validation is a good and important desire. But if validation is all we’re receiving, we may be unintentionally avoiding the deeper invitation of therapy: to look at and take ownership of our own feelings, responses, and capacity to care for ourselves in what is.

Shift:
At the start of each session (or better yet, before you arrive), ask yourself: “What do I want for myself from this time?”“What can I work on today that doesn’t involve changing someone else?” 

You can also ask your therapist to help you keep the focus on you. Many of us blame others for what we are responsible to give ourselves.

#2: You’re trying to escape a circumstance (rather than face what it brings up).

This often shows up as:
“If ______, then I’d be okay.”

If they changed.
If the job improved.
If the diagnosis went away.

We can want relief more than we want to feel or change.

I’ll never forget a friend saying to me, “I don’t want a counselor to just sit with me in my grief. I want someone to help me change how I’m relating to my grief.”

Shift:
I can’t change what happens to me. But I can change what I do with what I feel about it.  

Growth happens when we learn to be with what is — not just when we try to eliminate what hurts.

#3: You’re focused only on behavior change.

If your sessions center mainly on stopping a behavior, you may feel frustrated by slow progress.

We don’t just change behavior because we decide to. We live out of our stories. We act from unmet needs, longings, fears, and protective strategies.

Until we turn towards what’s driving those strategies, change won’t last. Real change comes when we grow in our capacity to be with ourselves and others with curiosity and love.   

Shift:
Ask: “What am I actually trying to feel — or not feel — when I do this behavior?”

Lasting change comes when we learn to relate differently to our own needs, emotions, and desires. It starts when we get curious and honest about the deeper rooted dynamics driving our actions.

#4: You’re talking around the real issue.

It’s possible to stay very “busy” in therapy and still avoid what matters most.

This might look like:

• Storytelling instead of connecting to what’s happening inside you while you tell it

• Avoiding vulnerable truths

• Filling sessions with updates rather than depth (especially in monthly sessions)

Information is not the same as transformation.

Shift:
Slow down. Ask yourself, “Am I shaming, blaming or naming my experience?”

Notice where you feel tension, emotion, or discomfort — and stay there. Start by gently noticing the ways you might deflect from or avoid the things you’re most afraid to look at.

Real change happens when we focus on the core issues of our lives, rather than using therapy as a means to “just process.”

#5: You’re not being honest with your therapist.

Therapy is about becoming more honest.
More aware.
More responsible.
More connected to yourself — and ultimately, more human.

If you’re feeling stuck, say that.
If something isn’t working, say that.
If you need something different, say that.

Your stuckness might actually be an invitation — not a failure.

Shift:
Tell your therapist what is and isn’t working in session. Ask them how they see the work going.

If you’re nervous about offering this direct of feedback, start by naming the fear of doing this!

Hope When Therapy Stalls

Therapy doesn’t fail because you’re broken.

It stalls when we show up without ownership, without intention, or without the courage to go where it matters.

If you feel stuck, don’t quit.
Lean in.
Get clearer.
Ask for more.

At its best, therapy is a space where you practice relating differently — to your story, your emotions, your pain, and your agency. If it feels stagnant, that doesn’t mean it’s over. It may mean you’re standing at the edge of something deeper.

And the question isn’t, “Is therapy working?” but “How am I showing up in it?”

That shift alone can move the needle more than you think.

The Missing Piece To Better Conflict

It lives rent free in my mind: this scene from The Break-Up. Jennifer Aniston (Brooke) comes home to Vince Vaughn (Gary) playing video games.

“I’m going to do the dishes; it’d be nice if you’d help me,” she says.

Gary initially rejects her request and then begrudgingly agrees to help.

Brooke glares at Gary: “I want you to want to do the dishes.” 

The fight is off to the races, with Brooke listing different ways she feels neglected by Gary: the dishes, the lemons Gary forgot, flowers he doesn’t get her, how they don’t go anywhere together. He takes each issue and argues against it. 

At a certain point, Brooke tells him: “You’re not getting it.”

She’s right: Gary isn’t getting it! It’s not about the dishes (or the lemons, or the flowers, or any of these topics). It’s about a much deeper hurt (and longing) that they’re both missing.

If Brooke could slow the moment down and reach from a vulnerable place, it might sound like this: “I feel invisible to you. I feel alone. I don’t feel important to you and it hurts so much.”

In the real scene, Brooke continues to complain, and Gary continues to defend, eventually telling her, “All you do is nag!” 

Eventually, he snaps: “Nothing I ever do is good enough.”

If Gary could stay there and speak from his fear, rather than his defense, it might have sounded like this: “When you’re angry, all I hear is that I’m failing you, and I’m exhausted by not feeling enough for you.”

Neither partner is the bad guy here. They’re just trapped.

The Negative Cycle

Gary and Brooke are caught in what Emotionally-Focused Therapists call a negative cycle - an ongoing feedback loop where each partner’s reaction increasingly triggers the others’.

• Brooks feels alone → She gets louder, more critical

• Gary feels inadequate → He shuts down or defends

• Brooke’s protest gets louder → His distance grows

You could swap the dishes for money, sex, in-laws, you name it – the pattern would look mostly the same.

Underneath each partner’s “moves” (what they do) are well-hidden vulnerabilities: fears and longings that go unrecognized and unprocessed.

Brooke longs to feel desired and like she matters. Gary longs to feel acceptable and like he’s enough.

Instead of these softer parts of themselves, they only see each other’s protections - their armor. The more they meet their partner’s protective move, the more they reach for their own.

Because they can’t see the pattern, they don’t know when they’re in it - or how to step out of it.

The Three Ps

The Leading Edge Podcast has a framework for what couples should look for when trying to become aware of and step out of their negative cycles. They say to look at our: Pain, Protection, and Potential Impact.

Pain: When you find yourself in conflict with your spouse, what’s the deeper pain? The fear?

Protection: What do you do with what you feel, in order to protect yourself? Do you go quiet, shut down, or withdraw to find safety? Do you turn the heat up and get louder to get your partner’s attention?

Potential Impact: How does your protective move impact your partner and keep the cycle going? (It’s not about finding fault here, but about ownership of what you bring to the table).

Why It Matters

Couples who can become experts on their own cycles (oftentimes with the help of a therapist - we know a few!) can skillfully defuse conflict and turn it into connection. They stop arguing about content in a reactive way and start talking about the deeper issues - their pain -  in a vulnerable way. 

Once you know your cycle as a couple, you can begin to understand what your argument is really about - that it’s never really about the dishes, but about our deeper desires to be held, connected to, and seen by the ones we love. 

That’s the real reason disconnection is so painful: because our relationships matter so much.

So, the next time you find yourself in conflict with your partner, pause.

Breathe.

Look for your pattern.

And remember: it’s you two together, against the cycle.

One Simple Question To Make A Big Difference

With the holiday season in full swing, it’s so easy to get swept up in the whirlwind of activities—school productions, gift shopping, social events, and endless to-dos. Often the feelings of exhaustion, loneliness and anxiety seem to be more real than the hope, connection and joy we all sing about. Unfortunately, I think this isn't a "holiday issue." I believe it is a "me" issue. 

How do we shift this?

Somewhere between wrapping presents and crossing off to-dos, we often forget to ask ourselves the simplest question:

“What do I actually want right now?”

I don't think it is a coincidence that the One whose birth we celebrate during this season began His ministry with this question, "What are you seeking?" (John 1:38). This question cuts to the heart and invites us right to the present. 

I noticed this at our office Christmas party this year. I’d spent weeks planning, wanting everything to go smoothly for everyone. The night arrived, and while the laughter and conversations filled the room, I caught myself feeling oddly disconnected—like I was watching the evening happen rather than being in it.

So I paused. Took a breath. And quietly asked that question again.

What I wanted was simple: to enjoy it. To actually be with the people around me. To laugh, taste, notice, and not keep scanning the room for what needed to be done next.

That moment—barely a minute long—shifted everything.

We underestimate how quickly the holidays can pull us into performance mode. We want to give, to host, to care well, but in doing so we sometimes drift away from ourselves, the present and the real reason we are where we are. The pause doesn’t have to be long or dramatic; sometimes it’s just that gentle inward check-in that redirects our attention.

When we take that pause, we stop reacting to the chaos and start responding with intention. Our tone softens. We listen differently. We find ourselves laughing again instead of managing moments.

The people we love don’t need a flawless dinner table or the perfect gift. They need our attention, our warmth, our presence. They need us! We deserve to meet ourselves with the same care and compassion we offer others.

So, if you find yourself stretched thin this month, try this: before walking into a gathering, before sending that next email, before overthinking the seating chart, stop and ask, “What do I want right now?”

Maybe the answer is to breathe. Maybe it’s to step outside for a second. Maybe it’s to really listen to the story your friend is telling. Whatever it is, that’s the way back to connection. 

This season, may we practice slowing down just enough to notice what’s already good. May we choose connection over control, awareness over autopilot, presence over performance. Sometimes, all it takes is asking ourselves a quiet question at the right moment, and slowing down long enough to listen to the answer.

I Know My Trauma, But What Do I Do About It?

I will never forget the day I was sitting in my Human Growth and Development class in graduate school when our counseling professor, Dr. Dan Zink, sauntered into the lecture room right on time, like a wizard arriving precisely when he means to. 

"Do you want to know what human growth looks like? Do you want to know what you are helping your clients do in session? It is ONE word..." He paused as we all pulled out our notebooks, ready for the secret to the universe. Then, he grabbed a red dry erase marker and - using the entire double white board - wrote the letters, G-R-I-E-F.

"Grief," he said. “No one wants to do this or feel this, butwe will never change, heal, or grow unless we are willing to grieve. We cannot heal what we don’t feel.”

Grief isn’t just sadness; it is the whole experience of feeling life on life’s terms. It is the ache that calls us back, not to fix what happened, but to acknowledge and turn towards what has happened.

But what does grief have to do with trauma and why we often feel stuck? What if we know about our trauma but still don’t know what to do about it? How is grief involved in the healing process?

This is a question that I have heard many of my clients ask, and one I’ve asked myself. The answer lies in understanding that trauma is less about what happened to me and more about what I did or am doing with what happened to me. 

As Dr. Gabor Maté says, “The essence of trauma is the disconnection from the self.” It’s not the event itself that wounds us most, but the way we must disconnect from our experience, our humanity, others, and even God as a way to survive it.

This disconnection is a strategy to protect ourselves, yet it becomes the very self-inflicted wound that keeps us stuck. We disconnect in many ways, often unintentionally, and sometimes in ways that even seem helpful (like overworking or people pleasing). This means that knowing what happened may not be as important as noticing what we’ve done or are doing with what happened.

Healing, then, isn’t just about remembering what happened or trying to get something to go away. Healing is the work of slowly re-attending to whatever is hurting with love, patience, courage and clarity. 

So, how do we do that? Here are a few, simple steps in the right direction.

Steps Toward (Re)connection

1. Slow down. The more complex the trauma, the more complex the strategies we develop to keep ourselves from slowing down and connecting. Slow down in order to be with your experience.

2. Identify. Ask, What am I feeling? Naming emotions makes them real.

3. Own it. Ask, Is it okay to feel this right now? As children we couldn’t handle big feelings alone; as adults, we can choose to feel and seek support.

4. Explore. Ask, What is this emotion telling you? Approach it with curiosity, not judgment.

5. Express. Notice how the feeling lives in your body. What does it want to do—cry, rest, move, speak? Allow a little space for that.

6. Get help. We won’t risk connecting to painful experiences unless we trust that someone—or something—will meet us on the other side. Find safe people, like a counselor, who can hold space and guide you as you risk feeling again.

You can know your story backward or hardly at all—the way forward is the same.

What are you doing with your experiences of pain, rejection, or abandonment? 

As much as I resist it, I want to—as Andy Gullahorn sings—“take a broken heart instead of one that doesn’t feel.”