The Humble Pie I Didn’t Want — But Needed

Sometimes life hands us a big, unexpected slice of humble pie.

I’m someone who prides myself on showing up. I do what I say I’m going to do. I care deeply about people — not in a surface way, but in a way that really matters to me. I want to help. I want people to feel supported and cared for, especially in vulnerable spaces like grief.

And recently… I missed two grief support appointments. I've NEVER done this before!!

Even writing that makes my stomach tighten.

These weren’t random bookings. One was a social worker — in the same field as me. The other was a veterinarian connected to the hospital I work with. From the moment they booked, I already felt a little vulnerable.

Of course, I would have felt terrible missing anyone’s appointment. It wasn’t about status. It was about care. But because they were connected to my professional world, it stirred up a different layer of vulnerability — identity, exposure, and the fear of being judged by peers.

So when I realized what had happened, my system went into shock.

My mind spun: How could I let someone down like that? How could I not show up when I said I would — especially in a time of grief?

Because I know how vulnerable grief is. I know the courage it takes to book support, to open your heart, to say, “I need help.”

And I didn’t show up.

I felt it in my body immediately — the tightening, the sick drop in my stomach, the heat of shame creeping in. A sense of not feeling safe. Thoughts like: Are they going to judge me? Will they think I’m unreliable? Am I now someone who can’t be trusted?

It felt awful — the kind of awful that makes you want to crawl out of your own skin.

Repair and Responsibility

I reached out right away.

I apologized to the social worker, and she told me she no longer wanted a session. That was hard. I could feel the part of me that wanted to keep apologizing, to fix it, to somehow undo what had happened. But I couldn’t. I had to meet her where she was and respect that outcome.

With the veterinarian, I sent an apology and haven’t heard back. There’s a tenderness in that space of not knowing — just having to let it be what it is.

And I’ll be honest about something that feels uncomfortable to admit.

My very first flicker of reaction was: How could I get out of this? What could I say?

It passed quickly, but it was there. A reflex from not feeling safe. Not a character flaw — a survival reflex. The part of me that wanted to protect.

And then just as quickly came the deeper truth: No. You own this.

Integrity, for me, is taking responsibility without excuses. I can apologize. I can acknowledge the impact. I can’t control how it lands.... unfortunately!!

That part is humbling.

The Turning Point

After the initial shame storm passed, I asked myself something different.

Not “How did I mess this up?”But — “What’s really going on?”

The truth is, I’ve taken on a lot lately. And I haven’t been feeling well physically. Pain has been affecting my sleep. And I have an old pattern — when I don’t feel well, I push harder. I override. I keep going.

My body had been asking for care long before my calendar forced me to listen.

I wasn’t able to go at the pace I had wanted to or felt I should be able to.

When I finally acknowledged all of this, something in me softened. It felt like a quiet cracking open in my heart. I could feel the vulnerability. The grief. The sting of how hard I had been on myself. The reality of what I had been avoiding was finally seen.

And then came the tears. The exhaustion. The sadness. The relief of not pretending I was fine.

Guilt and Shame

I’m learning the difference between guilt and shame in a more lived way.

Shame feels like, " I am bad.”Guilt feels more like, “That didn’t align with who I want to be.”

Shame makes me want to hide. Guilt — when I let it just be what it is — keeps me connected to my values.

I don’t want to dismiss mistakes. But I also don’t want to turn every mistake into a story about my worth.

I am human. I made a mistake. That doesn’t make me broken. And that doesn't mean I don't care.

Staying with the guilt — without layering shame on top — feels like the work.

The Humbling Lesson

Here’s the part that really humbled me.

I’ve been critical in the past of people who don’t follow through. Who cancel. Who don’t show up.

And now, here I am.

So I want to say this out loud:

I’m sorry to anyone I’ve judged. I’m sorry for the times I didn’t leave room for the unseen struggles someone else might have been carrying.

And I’m also apologizing to myself — for the times I didn’t listen to my body, when I pushed through pain, when I shamed myself for not being able to keep up.

Have you ever tried apologizing to yourself?

It can feel awkward. Clunky. Almost strange at first. But something softens when we do.

If you’re sitting with your own slice of humble pie right now, I see you.

Staying With It

Instead of rushing to fix, I’m practicing sitting with what’s uncomfortable.

Feeling my body. Listening. Letting the feelings move through instead of armoring up.

Because sometimes missing something big isn’t a moral failure.

Sometimes it’s a signal. A whisper we didn’t hear that finally had to become a shout.

Maybe the real showing up is what happens after we’ve fallen short.

Thank you for holding space for my words and for the vulnerability in them. Truly. Writing this felt tender, and your presence here means more than you know.

Please know you aren’t alone in whatever you might be carrying. And if you ever find yourself sitting with your own slice of humble pie and would like someone beside you while you take a bite… I’m here. Reach out.

Thanks for being you, you are a beautiful gift to this world!!