Water is coming through the kitchen ceiling. One person is turning off the stopcock. The other is standing in the hallway explaining what kind of idiot doesn't check a washing machine hose.
Only one of those is accountability, though the second feels more like it — heavier, more sincere, more deserved. Self-blame does a convincing impression of taking responsibility while producing nothing that changes the ceiling.
The test is simple enough to run mid-thought: does this end in a task? If it ends in a verdict about your character instead, it isn't repair work. Repair is boring. It is a phone call, an apology of two sentences, a form filled in on a Tuesday.