sorry, sorry, sorry
I SAY “SORRY” A LOT. When I am running late. When I am navigating the streets of New York. When I interrupt someone. I say, “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” in one long stream. The sentence becomes “Sorrysorrysorry” and it’s said really fast, as if even the act of apologizing is something to apologize for. But this doesn’t mean I am a pushover. It doesn’t mean I am afraid of conflict or don’t know how to stand up for myself. I am getting to a place right in the middle where I feel good about exactly how much I apologize. It takes years as a woman to unlearn what you have been taught to be sorry for. It takes years to find your voice and seize your real estate.
I am still learning the right balance. Sometimes I go too far the other way. I have a quick temper and I’m not afraid to argue. Once, I was flying from New York to Toronto with Tina Fey and Ana Gasteyer on our way to shoot Mean Girls. We were flying in first class and spent the hour-long, ten A.M. flight chatting about life and work. The man sitting next to me was in an expensive suit on his way to a meeting, and I got the sense that he hated us and our friendly back-and-forth. A few times during the flight he sighed loudly, which I took as a sign that we were bothering him. I ignored it. Maybe that was a mistake, but sighing doesn’t really work on me. As we got off the airplane and headed toward the moving walkway, the man pushed past me and jostled me a bit.
“Excuse me,” I said.
“Excuse me? Excuse you!” he said.
I looked up at his boring, rich-guy face. He was turning red. I realized he was preparing to scold me. He had bumped into me on purpose to teach me a lesson.
“You girls were talking the entire flight,” he said. “You should not be in first class!”
All of my lower-middle-class Boston issues rose to the surface. I don’t like it when bratty, privileged old white guys speak to me like I am their mouthy niece. I got that amazing feeling you get when you know you are going to lose it in the best, most self-righteous way. I just leaned back and yelled, “FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK YOU.” Then I chased him as he tried to get away from me.
“You rich motherfucker! Who do you think you are? You’re not better than me. Fuck you and your fucking opinions, you piece of shit.”
And on and on. Tina was laughing. Or horrified. I don’t remember; I was in a rage haze. Also I was showing off, which can be at the very least embarrassingly transparent and at the very worst careless and dangerous. But who doesn’t love self-righteous anger? It’s great. When I yell at the dads drinking coffee and looking at their phones at the playground while their seven-year-olds play on the preschool monkey bars, I feel like I am fully alive.
But for the most part I try not to yell “fuck you.” I try to say “yes please.” And “thank you.” “Yes please” and “thank you” and “sorry, sorry, sorry.”
But there was one “sorry” that I took too long to say, and it haunted me for years.
Saturdays at SNL were a tornado of activity. I would typically be in eight or nine sketches a night, which meant fast costume changes and lots to prepare. Costume changes at Saturday Night Live are a dance all to themselves. Each week I would confab with my human pit crew and figure out how much time I had to change between sketches. I would change under bleachers and tucked away in corners. Hearing the sound of the audience while I was in my underwear was thrilling and terrifying. My job was to stay still and obey directions as they were shouted: “Lift your foot!” “Snap this shut!” “Close your eyes!” Bruce would pull off my pre-Velcroed shirt as Robert glued on my fake mustache. I would hold up my two index fingers next to my head while Jeffrey put on my old-man wig, and Spivey would stand next to me telling me that my new cue to enter was “Thanksgiving is ruined!” Everyone was equal during those moments, all of us actors in a play trying to get changed in time. I watched Robert De Niro wiggle into spandex pants as Siegfried. Or Roy. I witnessed Donald Trump stepping into a chicken suit. I engaged in small talk with Derek Jeter as he was buttoned into a dress. “How are you doing?” I asked. “Are you nervous?” He just laughed and said, “No,” thus settling the long-standing debate about what is more nerve-racking: live comedy or the World Series.
“SNL time” is completely different from real-world time. Gena, our stage manager, would peek in and reassure us that we still had “a minute twenty.” Our shoulders would relax and we would joke around like emergency room doctors. We would chat about someone’s boyfriend as we hustled to the stage floor, and more than once a prop was thrown to me with seconds to go. I would catch it, the crowd would clap, and the scene would start. It was chaos. It was so exciting.
The problem with busy shows is that details get lost. Attention is not equally paid and things slip through the cracks. It was in one of those cracks that I did the only sketch I regret from SNL. The crack is not an excuse. Or maybe it is. This essay is about apologies, and I have learned an important part of apologizing is not making excuses. But that night was particularly busy.
It was March 2008 and I was newly and secretly pregnant. I remember feeling tired and worn out. Hillary Clinton was in the cold open and I stood beside her wearing a matching outfit. It’s always extremely weird to play someone as they stand next to you. Coming down from that much adrenaline can drain you. Later that night, I played Dakota Fanning, hosting The Dakota Fanning Talk Show. I don’t do an impression of Dakota Fanning, or look anything like her, so the sketch depended on my creepy ability to play a ten-year-old girl with relative ease. It was written by two SNL writers who liked the idea of a highly intellectual Dakota Fanning discussing things that were far too mature for her young age. Her references were often lost on her beleaguered bandleader, Reggie, played by the always-brilliant Kenan Thompson. Dakota would confess that she was a big fan of Vonnegut but “not familiar” with Harry Potter. She loved Tom Waits and enjoyed discussing Japanese poetry. She treated her mom like her manager and claimed she never watched TV. Her upcoming projects were always serious and much too adult. You get the idea.
On this particular night, the awesome Ellen Page was the host. Ellen was playing a young and innocent Miley Cyrus. This was in the Hannah Montana days, and Miley/Ellen was showing Dakota her new doll. The script read like this:
ELLEN/MILEY
Hey Dakota, check this out! It’s my new Hannah Montana doll! Pretty awesome, right?
(ELLEN TAKES OUT A CUTE DOLL AND MAKES IT DANCE)
AMY/DAKOTA
I’ve also got a new doll. It’s from my upcoming film Hurricane Mary, where my sister and I play severely disabled twins.
(AMY/DAKOTA TAKES OUT A CREEPY DOLL)
ELLEN/MILEY
(AS HER DOLL)
Hey Dakota, want to play?
AMY/DAKOTA
(AS HER DOLL)
I wish I could but I am severely disabled.
I rehearsed the sketch and went over the blocking. The entire time I assumed that Hurricane Mary was something the writers had made up. We did a run-through and I was told the doll was being made and would be ready by air. The night of the show came, and the doll arrived. As it was put into my hands, I remember feeling my stomach tighten. It had been manipulated to look like a strange and twisted girl. But there was no time. Jeffrey adjusted my wig. Gena told me I had five seconds. The scene played fine. I ran to the next quick change. Robert glued on a beard. I forgot about my weird feeling, finished the show, and went to the after-party.
Months later I received a letter from Marianne Leone and Chris Cooper. It was simple and painful. It said something like “Shame on you for making fun of a real girl. Her name is Anastasia and she is amazing. You should know her story.” I knew Chris Cooper from his work in films like American Beauty and Adaptation. I had always heard he was a wonderful person and a delight to work with. I didn’t know his wife, Marianne, but a quick Google search told me a few important things: Marianne was an actor and had written the television movie Hurricane Mary mentioned in our skit. Hurricane Mary was based on the real story of Alba and Anastasia Somoza, twin sisters with cerebral palsy, and their mother’s battle to ensure their right to an equal-opportunity education, as well as their full integration into society. Marianne and Chris had come to know Anastasia’s story through their advocacy for disabled children. The cause was personal for them: their beloved son, Jesse, had been born with special needs. Sadly, he had passed away in 2005.
I’d like to tell you that I responded to the note. Or that I turned around and faced that letter head-on. I’d even like to tell you that I checked my body and heart and realized I was fine with the sketch and felt no need to apologize. Nope. Instead, I got angry. Anger and embarrassment are often neighbors. Sometimes we get defensive about what we feel guilty about. I was angry about the fact that I was being accused of something I didn’t do. I didn’t make fun of a real girl on purpose! I would never do that! That’s not me! That’s not me at all! I reread the note over and over again. I shared it with other people in the hopes they would agree that Marianne and Chris were overreacting and I was right to believe I was a good person. I told everyone about it and asked everyone to say it wasn’t my fault. I threw the note in the trash like it was evidence of a crime. I stomped around for a bit and then pretended it went away. I was a shitty version of myself. The shadow side. I made a lot of noise because I felt bad about hurting someone’s feelings and I didn’t want to get quiet and really figure out how I felt. I was afraid to lie down and put my hand on my heart and hear the tiny voice whispering inside me saying that I had screwed up.
Your brain is not your friend when you need to apologize. Your brain and your ego and your intellect all remind you of the “facts.” I kept telling myself that the only thing I was guilty of was not paying attention. Sure, I was being self-absorbed and insensitive, but who isn’t? Sure, I should have been more on top of what I was saying, but wasn’t that somebody else’s job? Didn’t everyone know how busy I was? Didn’t Marianne and Chris take into consideration what a NICE PERSON I was? My brain shouted these things loud and clear. My heart quietly told a different story.
Shame is difficult. It’s a weapon and a signal. It can paralyze or motivate. My friend Louis CK likes to say that “guilt is an intersection.” Getting out of it means making a choice and moving forward. I felt guilty and I felt shame, but I didn’t really move. For years. I parked my car in the intersection and let it sit there until the battery ran out. Then Spike Jonze helped me.
I bet you didn’t expect so many A-list names in my apology story!
A word about apologizing: It’s hard to do it without digging yourself in deeper. It’s also scary and that’s why we avoid the pain. We want so badly to plead our case and tell our story. The bad news is that everybody has a story. Everyone has a version of how things went down and how they participated. It’s hard to untangle facts and feelings. For me, as a person in comedy, I am constantly weighing what I feel comfortable saying. There are big differences between what you say on live television and what you say at dinner, but you realize you have to be responsible for all of it. Each performer has to figure out what feels right. I am a strong believer in free speech and have spent most of my adult life in writers’ rooms. I have a high tolerance for touchy subject matter. There isn’t a taboo topic I can think of that I haven’t joked about or laughed at. But I have an inner barometer that has helped me get better at pinpointing what works for me and what feels too mean or too lazy. I like picking fair targets. I don’t like calling babies on websites ugly or comedy that relies on humiliation. I love ensembles and hate when someone bails or sells their partner out. I love watching a good roast but don’t think I would be particularly good at roasting someone. Maybe it all comes down to what you feel you are good at. I have a dirty mouth but know that I don’t always score when I work really blue. I have a sense of what kind of jokes I can get away with and still feel like my side of the street is clean. I like to lean my shoulder against limits and not depend on stuff that is shocking.
That being said, I still made a joke about someone being disabled. I didn’t know it was a real person, but why does that matter? All of this left me stuck in that guilt intersection. I knew I was wrong but couldn’t move. I lived in fear of running into Chris and Marianne, which was strange, because there really wasn’t anyone else in the world I was afraid to be in a room with. This made famous-person stuff stressful, because Chris was famous and an actor and there was a high chance I would run into him at an award show.
I don’t want to back-door brag as I make my way to the end of this apology tale, so let me just front-door brag and talk about the cool people I get to be friends with. I am friends with Kathleen Hanna and Adam Horovitz, aka Ad-Rock from the Beastie Boys. I can’t believe I am friends with them. I love Kathleen’s music and I am in awe of her social activism and general awesomeness. I asked her to interview me for Interview magazine when I was just a sketch performer whom nobody knew. She said yes because she supports young women. This is the artist who pulled women to the front at her rock shows. She shows up and does the work and is the real deal. Now she is my friend. Her husband, Adam, is also my friend. I used to listen to the Beastie Boys on my Walkman and dream about meeting them. Now I have Adam’s e-mail. I’m blowing my cool cover but I am so psyched we are friends. I am also friends with Spike Jonze. Guess who else I am friends with? Kim Gordon! Norman Lear! Martin Short! It’s awesome! I can’t lie, it’s so awesome!
See how I am trying to distract you from the shitty thing I did?
Anyway I was at dinner with some of these people and Spike mentioned working with Chris. I told him my story, and how five years had passed and I was still sitting on this feeling that I had blown it. Spike gently reminded me that it’s never too late to reach out and apologize.
Spike told me he was looking at some similar themes in his new movie Her. What I didn’t know then was how a year later I would watch that beautiful movie about loss and love with my wonderful new boyfriend, Nick Kroll. I would watch the scene where Joaquin Phoenix reads an apology letter he writes to his ex-wife, and I would cry for all the things behind me and all the things yet ahead. Spike offered to connect me to Marianne, and I gratefully agreed.
Then he sent me this:
From: Spike Jonze
Date: March 11, 2013
To: Amy Poehler
Subject: Fwd: Hey from Marianne & Chris
I didn’t realize the whole situation.
I’ll leave it in your hands.
I’m sorry, Amy.
Being a grown-up is hard.
Marianne is an awesome woman. I’m sure you guys would get along great if you met in a different situation.
big hugs
x
On March 11, 2013, Leone, Marianne wrote:
From: Marianne Leone
Date: March 11, 2013
To: Spike Jonze
Subject: Re: Hey from Marianne & Chris
Yeah, I was furious at the skit she did on SNL and wrote her a letter to tell her. The skit was a gratuitously cruel slap at disability which wasn’t funny in the least. What made it so, so horrible was that she was talking about the Somoza twins and the script I wrote about their lives. It was also the same night Hillary Clinton was on and I knew that Anastasia was watching it with friends, since she was in Texas stumping for Hillary, so I knew she saw herself being parodied in a horrible, unfunny, cruel way. I was doubly insulted for the twins that Poehler never had the class to answer the letter, so, quite frankly, I am glad that it bothered her. (We had our return address on the letter, and, face it, we’re not that hard to find.)
So, Spike, what I feel now is that I, we don’t need an apology from her, but if she wants to make it up to ANASTASIA, she can contribute to her staying at London School of Economics for another year to get her Master’s in Human Rights. Nothing will stop Anastasia. She will effect change in the world.
Love always,
Marianne
I read Marianne’s e-mail and was devastated. I pictured Anastasia watching the show and seeing me make fun of her. I waited almost a month and sent this.
From: Amy Poehler
Date: April 1, 2013
To: Marianne Leone
Subject: Truly sorry
Dear Marianne and Chris,
I am writing to apologize. This is most likely an example of “too little too late” but I am writing to you to apologize for a Dakota Fanning sketch I did on SNL many years ago. It was a sketch that upset you and Anastasia, and one that moved you to write to me.
It has always bothered me that I never contacted you both. I regret that. I spoke of this to Spike and he very nicely connected us. I am grateful to him for giving me this opportunity, and appreciate you taking the time to read this.
I am very sorry for any pain I caused. I apologize for an insensitive portrayal of what was a loving and important project. I am truly sorry for hurting Anastasia in any way.
I do not think it’s funny to make light of disabilities. This is not the kind of person I am or have ever been. The sketch was not written by me. The mean prop used was not seen by me until live on air. In fact, I had no idea that we were referencing a real film. I assumed it was yet another “adult” project that we would joke about Dakota Fanning working on. These are not excuses. I take responsibility for my negligence in understanding the context of what I was saying, but it’s important for me to tell you these details.
Anastasia deserves an apology from me. Feel free to pass this along if you feel that is helpful or send me her email if you deem it appropriate. I visited her Indiegogo page. She is an awesome young woman and I have no doubt she will continue to live an amazing life.
Again, I am sorry. I send my best wishes to you and your family, and my deepest condolences regarding the loss of your son.
Thank you for reading this.
Amy
Rereading it now I notice a few things. I got a little caught up in the facts. I was hoping to defend myself. But it felt really good to try. Apologies have nothing to do with you. They are balloons in the sky. They may never land. They may even choke a bird.
Then I got this.
From: Anastasia Somoza
Date: April 7, 2013
To: Amy Poehler
Subject: Re: Fw: Truly sorry
Dear Amy,
Wow!!!! Oh my goodness, what a lovely surprise!! Thank you so very much for your donation to my campaign launched to raise funds that will hopefully cover the cost of my caretakers in my 2nd year at LSE, and for the kind message you wrote to Marianne and Chris, which they graciously forwarded along to me.
They are two of the most amazingly wonderful, loving people I know and have been incredible supporters of me and my family!! I adore and admire them just as much as I do my own parents, for countless reasons, but most importantly for being a spectacular Mom and Dad duo to gorgeous Jesse!! It is thanks to them, Spike, many more of their closest friends and other fabulous people that I am at LSE today stressing out (like a typical grad student) over first year final papers and comprehensive exams that are fast approaching!
I always knew you never meant to hurt us in doing the skit. After all, you didn’t even know we actually existed so I realized it wasn’t personal. It also certainly helps to know that you weren’t aware of the back story or real life references portrayed. That being said, Chris, Marianne, my family and I have worked tirelessly to make equal opportunity, the inclusion and positive portrayal of people with disabilities in society the norm rather than the exception. As such, I was upset more generally speaking, about the skit contributing to a severe lack of knowledge, awareness, understanding and empathy around disability. Too many people already fear, and are often disgusted or put off in other ways by disability and it saddened me to think of the impact the skit may have had in adding fuel to that fire.
Just as you felt relieved I’m sure, to have the opportunity to apologize and express certain details to Marianne, it is important to me that you now know more about why the skit mattered. I hope you understand that Marianne wrote to you out of a deep love for her son, and my family for sure, but also precisely because the struggle to change the perception of disability goes far beyond us and the more people exposed to this reality the better.
I’ve seen several episodes of your web series Smart Girls at the Party and I truly believe that the show’s goal in celebrating “extraordinary individuals who are changing the world by being themselves,” represents who you are and what you believe in, far more than the skit. It takes strength and character to admit responsibility by acknowledging, to Marianne and Chris, that you could and indeed should have done more to inform yourself about what you were being asked to act in the skit. I agree and greatly appreciate, admire and thank you for your honesty and willingness to recognize that.
The sincerity of your apology and your generosity mean more to me than you will ever know and it made my younger sister Gabriella giddy with excitement!!! I hope you’re enjoying a sunny Sunday and thanks again from the bottom of my heart!!
Warmly,
Anastasia
Look at this woman. This beauty. What an act of grace. What a gift she gave me.
Shame makes people abandon their children and drink themselves to death. It also keeps us from true happiness. An apology is a glorious release. Anastasia gave me a huge gift. That e-mail changed me. It rearranged my molecules. She has lived a life of struggle and decided not to pick up the armor. She teaches me about compassion. She makes her journey about open hearts. She is not ashamed.
Thankyouthankyouthankyou.
apology letter from the brain
apology letter from the heart