Your Parents’ Apology Won’t Heal You …
Here’s What Actually Will
Why true healing starts within
—and why even a heartfelt apology can’t undo the emotional imprints of childhood.
I grew up in a strictly authoritarian family; I was afraid of my parents. We didn’t challenge decisions, talk back, or ask for emotional healing. I was so eager to please that the idea of saying, “You hurt me — I need an apology,” didn’t even cross my mind. But as a therapist, I’ve noticed how often this desire appears in the people I work with. Many adult children hold onto this quiet hope: If my parent could just admit what happened… if they could finally say they were wrong… maybe I could let it go.
We grow up waiting for it — the apology that might finally make everything clear. The “I’m sorry” that we hope will close the wound, stop the pain, or rewrite the story that shaped us. Sometimes, that apology does arrive. It may even feel tender or sincere. But before long, we realize something uncomfortable: the words helped temporarily… but the ache still remains.
That’s because healing doesn’t come from someone else’s remorse. It comes from what we do with our own pain.
Why We Long for an Apology
An apology from a parent holds deep emotional weight. It represents acknowledgment — the moment we finally feel seen. For many of us, that’s something we’ve been unconsciously craving since childhood. But when our early needs for safety, love, or validation weren’t met, that longing can turn into a lifelong search for closure. We imagine that if they’d just understand what they did, we’d finally be free.
The truth is, even a sincere apology can’t rewrite years of emotional neglect, rejection, or silence. It can validate your experience — but it can’t rebuild the foundation that was missing. That work happens within you. Healing often requires ongoing effort, self-reflection, and sometimes professional support to truly move forward and find peace.
“Life becomes easier when you learn to accept an apology you never got.” - Robert Braul
2. What an Apology Can (and Can’t) Do
An apology is a verbal acknowledgment of harm — someone saying, “I see what I did, and I’m sorry.” An apology can open a door, soften a hardened heart, restore communication, and begin to rebuild trust. However, it can’t change how your body learned to survive. When you grew up in chaos or emotional disconnection, your nervous system adapted to stay safe — maybe by staying quiet, overachieving, pleasing, or disappearing. Those patterns are deeply embedded, and words, even sincere ones, don’t automatically heal that wiring. Healing the nervous system takes time; it’s slow, embodied work — rebuilding trust not in others, but in yourself.
And this is where it’s helpful to remember: an apology is not the same as an amends. Amends require action — repair, changed behavior, and a real commitment to “make things right.” An apology says, “I’m sorry,” while an amends says, “I’m going to show you I’m sorry.” Even if someone offers you a sincere, thoughtful amends, that alone can not heal the wound — especially if it’s layered, historical, or tied to attachment injuries. Their repair work matters, but your healing still belongs to you.
“Letting go of the need for an apology wasn’t giving up; it was permitting myself to move forward.”
3. The Real Work of Healing
True healing begins when you stop waiting for your parent to do the work only you can do. That means:
• Facing the pain they couldn’t hold for you.
• Feeling emotions you once had to suppress to stay connected.
• Re-parenting the inner child who still feels unseen or unworthy.
This is not about blame — it’s about repair. Every time you offer yourself compassion instead of criticism, you’re rewriting the internal story that started in your childhood home.
And you don’t have to — and really shouldn’t — do this alone. This kind of work can be activating. It can bring up grief, anger, loyalty conflicts, and old survival patterns. Doing it with a therapist, sponsor, or an objective, trusted friend/peer helps you stay grounded, witnessed, and reminded of your progress when it feels messy. It’s important to have someone who can say, “What you’re feeling makes sense,” especially when your nervous system wants to revert to old coping strategies.
Therapy, journaling, inner child work, mindfulness, and nervous system regulation all support this process. But expect ups and downs — that’s normal. Healing isn’t linear; it’s cyclical. You circle back to layers when you’re ready. Healing happens one micro-choice at a time — through presence, not perfection.
You may even need to create some distance from your parents or family of origin while doing this kind of work. Sometimes, healing requires space to breathe and find your footing again. For instance, when I first got sober, I chose to physically distance myself from my mother and my family because I was afraid that being around them might trigger a relapse. It was an act of self-preservation, not rejection. The distance helped — it gave me room to stabilize, to learn new ways of coping, and to begin understanding myself outside of old family dynamics. But looking back, I wish I had explained why I was pulling back for a while, so it didn’t feel confusing or hurtful to them.
4. Accepting What You Never Received
One of the hardest parts of healing is accepting that some needs will never be met by the people we wanted them from most. That grief is sacred work.
Grieving what you didn’t get isn’t self-pity — it’s honesty. It’s how we move from denial to freedom. Grief work allows you to acknowledge what was missing — the nurturing, safety, or emotional presence you longed for — and to mourn the loss of what never was. Without that mourning, you can stay unconsciously stuck in cycles of hoping, pleasing, or proving yourself to people who were never capable of giving you what you needed.
Grief work isn’t about staying in sadness forever; it’s about releasing the invisible hold of unmet needs so you can make space for something new. This work may resemble writing letters you never send, discussing old stories in therapy, journaling from your inner child’s perspective, creating rituals of release, or practicing mindfulness when emotions arise. Allow yourself to cry, rage, or sit in silence — these feelings are not setbacks; they’re signs that your heart is thawing.
When you learn to give yourself the love, safety, and patience you always needed, you begin to fill the gaps that once dominated your relationships. You stop chasing what hurt you and start choosing what heals you. Grief is not the end of your story — it’s the bridge to emotional freedom.
Conclusion: The Apology Is the Beginning, Not the End
A parent’s apology can help mend bridges — it can open the door to understanding, soften long-held defenses, and create space for healing. But an apology alone can’t rebuild the deep foundation of your emotional well-being. That part is yours. Your task is to cultivate safety within yourself, to offer the love you longed for, and to develop a steady inner space that doesn’t fluctuate with someone else’s growth, insight, or timing.
Healing doesn’t mean erasing what happened or pretending it didn’t hurt. It involves changing how those experiences live inside you — how quickly you get triggered, how much power old stories still hold, and how you react when you feel unseen. Over time, you realize that you can break the cycle not by waiting for the past to change or for your parents to become what you needed, but by choosing — again and again — to heal in the present, to practice self-compassion, and to take responsibility for your own peace.
An apology says, “I see what I did.” Your healing says, “And I know who I am, regardless.”
I hope this post was helpful and encouraging. Please note that the information provided here is for educational and informational purposes only and should not be used as a substitute for professional, medical, or mental health advice. Please consult with a licensed healthcare professional, therapist, or other qualified expert about your specific situation.
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About the Author
Janice V. Johnson Dowd, LMSW, is a speaker, writer, and family recovery specialist. She is the author of Rebuilding Relationships in Recovery (North Atlantic Books), a guide for families seeking connection, trust, and healing after addiction. Learn more at janicejohnsondowd.com.