The Power of “I’m Sorry”Another Thing No One Warns You About

Antonia Kenny
May 27
4 min read

By Antonia at Unremarkable Me(Yes, I’m writing this with a heat pack on one side and an attitude problem on the other. If you were hoping for zen, you’ve knocked on the wrong blog.)

So, Here's the Thing...

When we talk about chronic illness, we usually cover the hits:

The pain.
The medications that require a degree in pharmacology to pronounce.
The “Am I dying or just dehydrated?” moments.

But there’s one symptom no one prepares you for—the unexpected transformation into a tiny rage Monster with Wi-Fi access.

No one warns you that one day you’ll find yourself crying over the wrong brand of tea bags, gripping them like they’ve personally betrayed your ancestors.

But here we are.

Welcome to the Porcupine Phase of Chronic Illness™

Let’s not sugar-coat it: sometimes chronic illness makes you an absolute nightmare.

Not because you're a bad person, or even because you're in pain—although, spoiler alert, you probably are—but because being constantly unwell turns you into a creature fuelled by cortisol and vibes.

It’s like your nervous system is an overworked intern, your patience is hanging by a thread, and the thread? Yeah, it's fraying faster than your NHS appointment letters arrive.

You’re not mean. You’re just... spiky. Like a porcupine. But sad. And with a medical hangover.

And here’s where it gets ugly:Sometimes you snap at the people you love. You turn into a slightly more dramatic version of Gollum with a hot water bottle. And unfortunately, “Sorry, I’m chronically ill” doesn’t quite cut it when your loved one is wiping metaphorical shrapnel off their face.

Exhibit A: The Great Tea Bag Incident of DOOM™

Three weeks into a pain flare.Foggy brain. Cement skull. Emotional capacity of a damp sock.

Enter Sam, my unsuspecting partner. He brings me—brace yourself—Tetley.

Tetley. Not PG Tips. Not my sacred leaf water of choice.Tetley.

And I, Antonia—grown adult, woman of words—launch into a Shakespearean-level tantrum about dishwater tea and betrayal, like I’d just discovered he was secretly a spy for Big Pharma.

Sam, poor sweet Sam, just silently backs away like someone trying to defuse a bomb made entirely of hormones and paracetamol.

Fifteen minutes later: guilt. Followed by an overblown apology performance that included the line,

“I have wronged thee in ways the bards would struggle to capture.”

...Reader, it did not help.

Chronic Illness Doesn't Give You a Free Pass (Sorry)

I wish I could tell you otherwise, but here’s the raw deal:Having a chronic illness doesn’t mean you get to be a d!@k.

Is it understandable? Of course. You’re in pain. You’re exhausted. You’re running on nothing but meds and resentment and now shitty tea.

But you still have to apologise when your inner lunatic goes full Assassin's Creed on your nearest and dearest.

Because they’re not the enemy. They’re the ones still showing up, even after you've accused them of being traitors to the Republic of Reasonable Tea Choices™.

And guess what? Research agrees.According to the Journal of Psychosomatic Research (2020), chronic pain messes with your emotional regulation. Like, scientifically. Which means that when you feel like you’re losing it? You kinda are. But you still need to own it.

Why “I’m Sorry” Is Basically Emotional Duct Tape

Let’s demystify this:Saying sorry doesn’t make you weak. It makes you someone your partner doesn’t fantasise about hurling into the sea.

According to the University of Missouri, apologies help rebuild trust, reduce defensiveness, and make emotional repair more likely. Which, in human terms, means your loved ones are less likely to start hiding in the pantry every time you say “I’m fine.”

A real apology doesn’t mean saying:

“I’m sorry you felt that way.” (Translation: This is your fault.)

It means saying:

“I’m sorry I acted like a caffeinated honey badger. You didn’t deserve that. Thank you for putting up with me even when I wouldn’t.”

Antonia’s Toolbox for the Emotionally Volatile & Medically Unhinged™

Because let’s face it, we need a script sometimes.

🛠 The Basic Bandage

“Hey, I’m sorry I snapped. I’m overwhelmed and exhausted, but that’s not your fault. Thanks for being here.”

🛠 The Spiky Defence Reboot

“I know I was a porcupine in a blender today. I hate that I get like this when I’m hurting. I’m sorry.”

🛠 The Gremlin Acknowledgement

“Sorry I was a monster. You know it’s one of those days when blinking feels aggressive.”

🛠 The One-Liner Lifesaver

“I’m sorry. I’m not okay today, but I don’t want to take it out on you.”

🛠 The Grown-Up Follow-Up

“I wanted to check in about earlier. If I hurt you, I’d really like to understand so I don’t keep doing it.”

Stick them to the fridge. Tattoo them on your soul. Whatever works.

Final Thoughts: You’re Not a Monster—But You Do Sometimes Snarl

Here’s the truth you need to hear:

You didn’t choose this pain. You didn’t choose this body. You didn’t choose the endless carousel of scans, prescriptions, and “just try yoga.”

But you do get to choose how you respond to the people who stay. The ones who fetch your hot water bottle. The ones who know your pharmacy schedule better than your doctor. The ones who—god bless them—bring you the right tea bags.

So next time the rage monster shows up in your living room, maybe give it a name, show it the door, and apologise to the collateral damage before the guilt spiral goes full musical theatre.

Because saying “I’m sorry” isn’t weak. It’s love. It’s work.And it might just be what keeps your people close—even when you're a little unlovable.

Support Resources for Chronic Illness Gremlins (and Their Long-Suffering Loved Ones):