One of the ideas that follows you around in recovery is the idea of amends.
Not vague regret. Not private guilt. Actual amends. The kind where you look someone in the eye and say, I hurt you.
There are several people in my life I know I owe that to. Probably more than I’m aware of. Addiction has a way of narrowing your focus so completely that you miss the collateral damage while it’s happening.
The problem is this: every time I start forming the words, they sound like excuses.
“I’m sorry I did that, but I was in a bad place.”
“I’m sorry I said that, but I was drinking.”
“I’m sorry I acted that way, but that’s not who I am anymore.”
Even writing those sentences makes me cringe. The “but” undoes the apology. It shifts the weight. It softens the blow for me instead of the person I hurt.
And that’s not amends. That’s image management.
The Temptation to Explain
Part of me wants to explain myself because I finally understand what was happening. I was ashamed. I was hiding. I was afraid of being exposed. Alcohol wasn’t just something I drank. It was something I hid behind.
Alcohol wasn’t just something I drank. It was something I hid behind.
Now that I can see that clearly, I want other people to see it too. I want them to understand that I wasn’t intentionally cruel. I was lost.
But here’s what I’m learning: understanding my behavior does not erase its impact. Intent and impact are different things.
I can know that I was sick and still admit that I caused harm. I can believe I am not that person anymore and still take full responsibility for what that person did.
Amends are not about defending the past. They are about owning it.
Removing the “But”
The simplest shift I’ve been trying to make is this: remove the “but.”
“I’m sorry I did that.” Full stop.
Not because there’s no context. Not because growth doesn’t matter. But because the apology isn’t about me anymore.
If I say, “I’m sorry, but that’s not who I am now,” I’m asking for reassurance. I’m asking them to tell me I’ve changed. I’m asking them to help me feel better.
That’s not their job.
Amends aren’t about announcing your transformation. They’re about acknowledging the damage.
If growth is real, it will show up over time. It doesn’t need to be attached to the apology.
Living the Apology
I’ve also started to realize that not every amends requires a speech.
Some require consistency. Some require restraint. Some require quietly paying back what was taken. Some require giving people space and not demanding immediate reconciliation.
In some cases, the most honest amends is simply this: I won’t do that again.
Sobriety has given me the ability to follow through on that sentence. When I was drinking, promises were fragile. Now they’re structural.
The apology is words. The amends is behavior.
Accepting the Outcome
There’s another hard part to this.
Even if I make amends cleanly, without excuses, without “but,” the other person may not respond the way I hope.
They may not be ready.
They may not forgive.
They may not trust me yet.
That doesn’t invalidate the amends. Making amends is about integrity, not outcome.
When I was drinking, I negotiated constantly. With myself. With other people. With reality. I bent things just enough to make myself feel justified.
Making amends without excuses is the opposite of that. It is standing still in the truth without trying to tilt it in my favor.
None for Me
There’s something connected here to the phrase that anchors this entire platform.
None for me.
It’s clean. It doesn’t argue. It doesn’t negotiate. It doesn’t explain. In some ways, real amends feel similar.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.”
None of the rest. No polishing. No self-defense. No performance. Just ownership.
I’m still learning how to do this well. I don’t think anyone graduates from this part of recovery. But I do know this: excuses kept me drinking. Honesty keeps me sober.
Excuses kept me drinking. Honesty keeps me sober.
And if I want to build a life that no longer requires numbing, I have to be willing to tell the truth about who I was without hiding behind who I am now.
That might be the hardest amends of all.
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