“I’m sorry. Can we be friends again?” These could be the words of two young kids, or perhaps a couple navigating the ups and downs of a seven-year marriage.
Apologizing, even when it feels insincere, and conceding in arguments may just hold the key to a thriving partnership.
I didn’t always grasp this wisdom. I suspected it but often let my own selfishness cloud my judgment. Life has a way of teaching you hard lessons, especially when you hold your child for the final time. Walking into a hospital with my daughter looking up at me and leaving with only a lock of hair and an empty stroller while holding my husband’s hand reshaped my understanding of love and sacrifice. If you’ve chosen to put your partner’s needs above your own—even occasionally—by allowing them to rest when you’re exhausted, or sharing the last piece of cake after a long week, you may find yourselves in a place of deep connection amidst grief.
Love matters far more than being right. This truth became clear to me as I navigated the stormy waters of parenthood. In the early days, especially with our first child, we both wanted to “win,” particularly during those sleepless nights. Exhaustion consumed me, and there was no room for empathy. When our son had surgery at five months, he shifted from being a sound sleeper to waking every hour, crying. I was frantic, convinced the surgery had failed or he was in pain. But ultimately, I was just bone-tired and frustrated, believing I deserved more rest than my husband.
After a particularly grueling week without sleep, I announced to my husband that I was taking our son to my parents’ empty house for a week. My intention was to escape the relentless wakefulness. This escalated into a heated argument about who was more sleep-deprived. I tried to reframe my words, claiming I wanted him to rest, but neither of us truly apologized, and resentment lingered.
Reflecting on that time, I realize I spent too much energy feeling entitled to my exhaustion. Winning in the battle of fatigue was pointless.
Then came a moment of clarity during an even more painful chapter of our lives. Fast forward two-and-a-half years to when our daughter, little Mia, was fighting for her life. Those midnight hours still felt torturous, but I discovered a strange strength in those moments when the world was asleep. I wished I could have greeted every cry with gratitude, but as months dragged on and sleep continued to elude me, my patience wore thin.
It was my husband who stepped in during one of those long nights. “I’m really sorry you’re the one staying up with her all night. I should be doing more to help,” he said, despite knowing he wasn’t at fault for our daughter’s struggles. He recognized that I needed to hear those words to stay grounded.
I responded in kind. “I’m sorry for taking my frustrations out on you.” In that moment, we both lost the argument and found something far more valuable—understanding and compassion.
Months later, we faced the unimaginable loss of our daughter. Our lives have irrevocably changed, and while we argue less now, disagreements still creep up. During a recent spat, I turned to my husband and said, “My heart is already broken. I don’t want to hurt more. I’m sorry, let’s reconnect.” He apologized too, and I couldn’t recall the cause of our argument.
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In summary, love often requires us to let go of our pride and the need to win arguments. Through the trials of parenthood, we learn that the bonds we share are more important than being right.