“Never apologize—it’s a sign of weakness.”
That’s what my first boss told me, chomping on a cigar in his corner office like some cartoon villain from the 1980s. I remember thinking he was everything wrong with corporate culture. Cold. Callous. The kind of man who’d step on your lunch to get to the elevator faster.
I spent the next decade doing the exact opposite. I apologized constantly. For having opinions. For needing things. For existing in spaces. I prefaced every email with “Sorry to bother you.” I explained my reasonable requests like I was defending a dissertation. I thought I was being polite, considerate, evolved.
Here’s what nobody tells you: I was right about my boss being an ass. But I was wrong about apologies being harmless.
The Sinister Truth Nobody Talks About
We’ve been sold a lie about apologies. We think they’re the grease that keeps social interactions smooth, the mark of emotional intelligence, the difference between civilized humans and those cigar-chomping neanderthals. We wear our over-apologizing like a badge of honor—look how considerate I am, how aware of others’ feelings, how unlike those terrible people who bulldoze through life without remorse.
But constant apologizing isn’t actually about politeness. It’s about power. Every unnecessary “sorry” is a tiny surrender. Each over-explanation is a confession that you don’t quite believe you deserve to be here.
I discovered this pattern while reviewing emails for my media company. In one week, I’d apologized 47 times. Not for actual mistakes—for existing professionally. “Sorry for the delay” (I’d responded within two hours). “Sorry to add to your plate” (while assigning work to someone I was paying). “Sorry if this doesn’t make sense” (it made perfect sense).
Meanwhile, I noticed something else: The most successful people I knew—not the assholes, but the truly successful ones—rarely apologized for anything except genuine harm. They’d thank you for waiting instead of apologizing for being late. They’d acknowledge impact without groveling. They took up space like they paid rent on it.
Which, in a way, we all do.
The 24-Hour Wake-Up Call
Try this tomorrow: Track every apology. Every “sorry,” every “I just wanted to,” every “If it’s not too much trouble.” Write them down. I guarantee you’ll hit double digits before lunch.
But here’s where it gets interesting. Once you start noticing, you’ll see the pattern everywhere. The woman in the Hermès boutique apologizing four times while spending £8,000. Your colleague prefacing brilliant ideas with “This might be stupid, but…” The way we even approach our own wellbeing, apologizing for taking time for therapy or self-care as if our mental health is an inconvenience to others.
This awareness is uncomfortable. Good. Discomfort is data. It’s showing you how much power you’ve been giving away in three-syllable increments.
Why Your Email Sounds Like a Hostage Note
Let’s talk about digital groveling. You know what I mean—those emails that read like you’re negotiating for your life: “Sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering if maybe you might possibly have time to perhaps consider looking at this proposal if it’s not too much trouble and you have a spare moment?”
Jesus. You’re not asking for a kidney. You’re doing your job.
Here’s the thing: We think this apologetic language makes us sound professional. It doesn’t. It makes us sound like we don’t believe in what we’re asking for. And if we don’t believe in it, why should anyone else?
Start doing this: Before hitting send, search for these words—sorry, just, maybe, possibly, actually, bother. Delete them all. Watch your email transform from a plea to a professional communication. “I’d appreciate your feedback on this proposal by Friday” beats “Sorry to bother you but maybe if you have time…” every single time.
This isn’t about being rude. It’s about recognizing that clear communication is actually kinder than making people wade through your linguistic self-flagellation to figure out what you need.
The Boundary Problem No One Admits
Here’s where over-apologizing gets truly toxic: boundaries. We’ve created this bizarre equation where having boundaries equals being difficult. So we apologize for them. We provide extensive backstories. We act like our needs require a court case.
Someone asks you to work late again. Instead of a simple “I can’t tonight,” you launch into: “I’m so sorry, I would totally stay, but my dog has this vet appointment that I scheduled three weeks ago, and my sister is in town, and I haven’t been sleeping well, and Mercury is in retrograde…”
Stop. Your no is complete at “no.” You don’t need to provide evidence of suffering to justify having a life outside work.
This extends beyond time boundaries. Watch how we apologize for our preferences, our opinions, even our existence in physical space. We make ourselves smaller with words before anyone even asks us to shrink. We’re pre-emptively accommodating complaints that haven’t been made.
The Gratitude Flip That Changes Everything
Here’s a simple shift that transformed how I show up: Replace apologies with gratitude. Running five minutes late? Instead of spending ten minutes apologizing, try: “Thanks for waiting. Now tell me about your project.”
Someone helps you with something? “I appreciate your time” beats “Sorry for taking up your time” every single time. You’re acknowledging their contribution without diminishing your worth.
This isn’t semantic gymnastics. It’s a fundamental reframe. Gratitude empowers both people. Apologies often diminish both—you for groveling, them for having to reassure you it’s fine. Like choosing sustainable luxury, it’s about quality interactions over quantity of words.
The Space You’re Allowed to Take
Let me tell you about walking into rooms. For years, I’d enter meetings with an apologetic energy. Sorry for being here. Sorry for sitting down. Sorry for having a body that takes up space. Sorry for breathing your air.
Now I walk in like I belong there. Because I do. And so do you.
This isn’t about strutting around like you own the place (unless you do, in which case, strut away). It’s about recognizing that your presence isn’t an imposition. You were invited. You have something to contribute. Your perspectives matter.
The same applies to opinions. Notice how we preface ideas with disclaimers? “This might be completely wrong, but…” or “I’m probably not understanding correctly, but maybe we could possibly consider…”
Stop giving people reasons to dismiss you before they’ve even heard your idea. State your thoughts as what they are—thoughts worth considering. “I recommend we explore…” beats “Sorry if this is stupid but…” every time.
When Someone Gets Your Name Wrong
Here’s a perfect microcosm of the whole problem: Someone mispronounces your name, and somehow YOU apologize. “Oh, sorry, it’s actually pronounced…” As if having a name that requires correct pronunciation is an inconvenience you’ve inflicted on the world.
Your name is your name. Correcting someone is doing them a favor—you’re helping them get it right. No apology needed. “It’s actually pronounced Sarah, with the emphasis on the first syllable.” Period. Done. Move on.
This principle extends to all corrections and clarifications. You’re not being difficult by ensuring accurate communication. You’re being helpful.
The Professional Plot Twist
Six months into practicing these principles, something unexpected happened. People started taking me more seriously. Not because I became harsh or unfeeling, but because I stopped undermining myself with every sentence.
Negotiations went better when I stated my worth without apology. Boundaries became easier to maintain when I stopped treating them like shameful secrets. Relationships deepened because they were based on authenticity rather than constant accommodation.
The most surprising part? The people who mattered didn’t miss my apologies. They appreciated my clarity. Turns out, when you stop apologizing for existing, others stop expecting you to shrink.
The Real Art of Not Apologizing
This isn’t about never saying sorry. Real apologies—for genuine harm, mistakes, or impact—are crucial. They’re how we maintain relationships and acknowledge our humanity. The problem is we’ve diluted the power of real apologies by spreading them like confetti at a parade no one asked for.
The art of not apologizing is about discernment. It’s recognizing that your baseline existence—having needs, taking up space, possessing opinions—requires no apology. It’s understanding that true kindness doesn’t require self-abandonment.
My old boss was wrong. Apologizing isn’t always weakness. But apologizing for being human? That’s not strength either. It’s a learned behavior that keeps us small, compliant, and constantly seeking permission to exist.
So here’s my challenge: Tomorrow, catch yourself before each unnecessary apology. Feel that familiar urge to shrink yourself with words. Then don’t. Speak clearly. Take up your space. State your needs without a backstory.
You might be surprised to find that the world doesn’t end. In fact, it might finally begin.
