Why do I apologize so much?
You apologize so much because somewhere you learned that taking up room has a price: asking for something, needing something, being in someone’s way. Sorry is how you pay that fee in advance, before anyone has a chance to be annoyed, and it feels like being nice rather than paying. Anxiety, people-pleasing or low self-esteem can all be true; underneath each one is the same move: paying before anyone has asked you to.
The full transcript of the video, chapter by chapter.
Why do I apologize so much?
You bump into a chair, and you say sorry to the chair. You text a coworker: sorry to bother you, quick question. The apology is longer than the question. Someone else shows up late, and you’re the one who says sorry.
In none of these did you do anything wrong. That isn’t politeness. It’s a fee.
You apologize so much because, somewhere, you learned that taking up room has a price. Asking for something, needing something, being in someone’s way, even just being in the room. Sorry is how you pay it, in advance, before anyone has a chance to be annoyed. And it doesn’t feel like paying. It feels like being nice.
You may have heard it called anxiety, or people-pleasing, or low self-esteem. Any of those can be true. Underneath each one is the same move: apologizing before anyone has complained.
So what exactly are you paying for?
Why do I over apologize?
Look at what the sorry is attached to. Sorry, can I ask something? Sorry, I’m crying. Sorry, long message. Sorry, could you pass the salt?
None of those is a mistake. Each one is a moment when you took up a little room: your question, your feelings, your time, your hand across the table. That’s the over in over-apologizing.
You’re not apologizing for something you did wrong. You’re paying for being there at all. And you do it first, so that if they do get annoyed, the matter is already settled.
The trouble is what each payment teaches. Every time you pay, you agree that there’s a price. You agree with them, and more quietly, with yourself.
When they say, no problem, you feel a little relief, as if you got away with something. People start to hear it, too: sorry means, I’m in your way.
Sometimes someone even snaps: stop apologizing! And you say, sorry.
And the price is highest with the person you most want to stay close to.
Why do I apologize so much in a relationship?
Because there, you’re asking for the biggest thing: to be wanted, needs and all. So the sorrys get smaller, and they never stop. Sorry for texting twice. Sorry, I’m being too much. Sorry, forget I said anything.
A woman I’ll call Beth answered questions about her relationship, in writing. She wanted one thing: that her love and care wouldn’t be taken for weakness, for being a pushover.
Early on, she wrote: I’m not afraid of being left. A few answers later: I’m afraid he’ll leave me. Asked what she gives up when that fear comes, she wrote one word: myself.
That’s what’s inside a sorry in love. Sorry for crying in front of him. Sorry for needing a hug. Each one hands over a little of you, so you can stay.
And what does staying give her? She was asked that, too. She wrote: the chance to be weak, tender, a woman. That’s what she was paying for, with pieces of herself: permission to be soft.
But if your sorry shows up with everyone, not only with one man, who is it really paying?
Why do I always apologize so much?
Anyone who might be upset with you. That’s why it feels like always: there’s always someone who might be upset.
Another woman, I’ll call her Anna, answered the same kind of questions. She never wrote the word sorry. She wrote what’s underneath it.
She had moved out of her marriage, and her teenage son stayed with his dad. They talked every day. Still, she wrote: I want him to love me, to write more, to call on his own. Asked what she was afraid of, she wrote: that I left, and his dad says bad things about me.
Later she wrote: I’m always trying to do something good. For whom? More so that they feel good.
And what was she really afraid of? She wrote: them being upset with me. Not her son. Not her ex. Them. Anyone. That’s who an always-sorry is paying.
For many people, it started at home: a slammed cupboard, a silent dinner, and a child saying sorry without knowing what for. When someone being upset with you once cost that much, you stop waiting to find out who it will be. So you say sorry to everyone, in advance. A sorry here, a favor there, something good, so nobody’s upset.
A few answers later, she wrote: I’m ready to stop proving to everyone that I’m good.
So can you just stop saying sorry?
Why do I say sorry so much?
You can, and the usual advice helps: swap sorry for thank you. Thanks for waiting, instead of sorry I’m late.
But if the fee is still there, thank you just becomes the new way to pay it. So the change isn’t the word. It’s noticing what the word is for.
Start here. Today, before you send a message, find the sorry in it. Ask one question: what am I paying for?
If it’s for something you actually did, a missed deadline, a sharp word, keep it. Say it once, and don’t keep apologizing for the same thing.
But if the answer is for asking, for needing, for being here, delete it. Send the message without it. It will feel rude the first time. It isn’t. It’s just a question.
Then watch what happens. Usually, nothing does. Nobody misses a fee they never charged.
And if someone does get upset that you asked for something, you’ve learned something about them, not about your right to ask.
So go back to that text you were sending your coworker. Hi, quick question. That’s the whole message.
And the chair? It never asked you for anything. Neither did most of the people you said sorry to this week.
So find one sorry you’d normally send today, and send the message without it.
Real sessions. Names and identifying details changed.
“What am I paying for?”
That’s the question to bring. The Guide asks one question at a time, you answer in writing, and your own words come back to you until you can see who the fee was ever meant for, and whether anyone charged it.