Embracing Witnessing – What We’re Really Longing for Beneath the Apology
Welcome back!
Here’s a question:
The last time you felt let down by someone—maybe they said something that hurt your feelings, or they didn’t show up the way you hoped—what do you think would’ve helped you feel better?
Here’s one more:
What did that hurt remind you of?
Because often, when something stings in the present, it’s tapping on a bruise from the past. Maybe it echoes a time when your feelings were dismissed, or when a promise was broken.*
For so long, I believed what I needed to feel better was an apology—to hear “I’m sorry.”
And sure, I’d still like that. But what I’ve come to understand is that when I’m aching for an apology, what I’m really yearning for is a witness. Someone to acknowledge the depth of my emotional experience.
Because chances are, when I felt something similar in the past, especially as a child, I didn’t have someone to hold space for those feelings. And so along with the pain, I also felt alone in it.
Like the time I told a trusted adult about how another kid at school made fun of me, and I was told that it wasn’t a big deal and to not be so sensitive. What I needed wasn’t someone to fix it or to punish the other child—just someone to sit beside me and say, ‘That sounds painful. I get why you’re upset.’
Learning to navigate this takes practice.
When I was younger, I’d often say:
“You made me feel [insert emotion].”
I placed the responsibility for my emotions entirely on the other person.
Later, as I did more inner work, I shifted to:
“When you did [action], it made me feel [emotion].”
This was a step toward ownership—but it still wasn’t the full picture. It still placed the emphasis on what the other person did, instead of how my own history shaped my experience.
What I was really trying to say was something like:
“When that happened, it reminded me of a time when I felt [insert emotion] as a child. I felt really alone in that experience, and as someone who cares about me, I wonder if you’d be willing to sit with me while I move through these feelings.”
That version?
It’s a lot more vulnerable. And a lot more powerful.
Because it’s not about blaming or making our emotions someone else’s responsibility—it’s about inviting them to witness, not fix. To hold space, not defend.
And on the other side of things—when someone shares their hurt with us, especially if we had good intentions—it can feel really hard not to rush in with an explanation or correction. We want to be understood. We want them to know we didn’t mean to hurt them.
But what they need in that moment usually isn’t your reasoning.
It’s your presence.
It’s someone who can say:
“I get why this brought something up for you.”
“I can see how that still feels raw.”
“I’m here with you.”
Because as comforting as an apology can be, what most of us are truly aching for is someone to say:
Your pain matters.
You’re not alone in it.
I'm here now, in the places where no one was before.
When we were children, if no one witnessed our pain, we often internalized it. We made it mean something about us—something like: I’m too much, I don’t matter, I’m not lovable. And without someone to help us hold and make sense of that experience, those beliefs took root.
So, no—it’s not about walking on eggshells or needing to say sorry all the time.
It’s about learning how to show up with compassion for each other’s tenderness.
It’s about realizing that what hurts often isn’t about fault—it’s about familiarity.
And when we meet each other with presence instead of defensiveness, we create space for something new.
I’m far from perfect at this.
But I’m practicing—on both sides.
And when I forget, or I find myself spiralling in blame or shame, these are the reminders that help me come back to my centre:
Pause before placing blame - What emotion is actually coming up—and does it remind you of something older?
Ask for presence, not proof - Sometimes what you need isn’t someone to justify their actions—it’s someone to hold your experience without trying to fix it.
Share your past, not just your present - Let them know what this moment is tapping into. You don’t need to over-explain—just offer a thread.
Let others be human - Not everyone will know how to witness you in the way you hope. You can still choose to honour your feelings and be your own witness.
Be willing to witness in return - You can hold someone else’s hurt without taking it on or abandoning yourself. This goes both ways.
Trust the healing in being seen - You don’t have to convince someone to understand. Sometimes, just being witnessed softens something deep inside.
Remember: taking responsibility for your feelings is powerful - It might feel vulnerable at first—especially if your emotions were once ignored or punished. But owning what you feel (without blaming yourself or others) is what makes space for healing. It’s how you move from reaction to choice, and from self-protection to self-trust.
Sometimes, feeling truly seen, and truly seeing, helps us soften enough to show up differently—for ourselves and each other.
We don’t always need someone to take the blame.
But most of us are longing for someone to see us in our hurt and stay with us while we navigate it.
To witness our tenderness without fixing it.
To say: I see you. That makes sense. I’m here.
That kind of presence doesn’t just soothe the moment.
It begins to heal the past.
With heartfelt gratitude,
Christina
* Note: This piece this doesn’t apply to situations involving abuse or deep betrayal—those require different kinds of care, support and boundaries. But in the more everyday ruptures we navigate in close relationships, this kind of witnessing can be deeply healing.
