What If I Didn't Say Sorry? A Gentle Experiment in Taking Up Space

I had a quiet thought the other day.

What would actually happen if I stopped apologising for all the things that probably aren't my fault?

Now, I don't mean for the everyday hiccups. We all know that reaching for the same shopping basket as someone else or misjudging a doorway deserves a quick "Oh, sorry!" and a laugh.

No, I'm talking about the other apologies.

The ones where absolutely nothing went wrong, nobody was particularly inconvenienced and yet my nervous system still insists on filing an incident report.

You know the ones I mean. The ones that we catch ourselves saying before we've even decided if they're actually needed:

Sorry for asking…

Sorry for bothering you…

Sorry, can I just…

Sorry, but…

Sorry to jump in…

I know I’ve talked before about how anxiety can turn "sorry" into a reflex. But for me, I think it’s become more than that. It's a quiet little shield, an unconscious habit built up over time.

I don't think the challenge is noticing how often I do it. I have spent years achieving a black belt in the pre-emptive apology.

It's more about seeing what's actually driving them. For me, it always comes back to the same old mental script: I'm probably making things complicated.

Living with anxiety means my brain often operates under this bizarre assumption that everyone else's needs make perfect sense, while mine apparently requires a formal permit and a notarised letter from the Department of Overthinking.

If my anxiety is feeling particularly chatty 🙄, it doesn’t stop to ask, "Is this actually a problem?" It just skips straight to nodding knowingly and whispering, "Better apologise, just in case." 

It’s exhausting, really. When your brain is running a thousand scenarios at once, apologising just becomes the default setting. 

I apologise for needing help. I apologise for asking a question. I apologise when my brain refuses to boot up before nine o'clock in the morning. And sometimes, when I'm really leaning into the chaos, I apologise to an inanimate piece of furniture for getting in its way.

It does also go deeper than just a stray reflex. Personally, it's managing my heart health concerns, but this could apply to many things. Along with that comes a quiet, lingering sense of responsibility for the people around me.

I can easily catch myself wanting to apologise for the ripple effect—how my reality might impact them. Meanwhile, they’re standing right beside me, completely unbothered.

But that’s the assumption talking, isn't it? The unwritten rule my brain made up, whispering that I should come with a disclaimer.

And right there — that’s the bit I need to look at.

If a friend suddenly said to me in the middle of a conversation that they just needed a minute, that’s what I would give them. I would understand. Possibly offer tea. Yes, definitely tea. But more importantly, I wouldn't expect them to preface this with an apology.

That’s what I want to work on. The automatic "sorry" right as it forms, before it slips from my lips. Instead, asking myself: What if I didn't say sorry?

Now this doesn't mean I'll undergo some miraculous overnight transformation. I know I will still occasionally apologise to pieces of furniture. (To their credit, the furniture remains remarkably gracious about it.) And I'm certainly not suggesting I should stop saying sorry altogether. A genuine apology is a wonderful, healing thing when a real mistake has actually been made.

But perhaps some of those daily reflexive apologies deserve a pause. A little moment of curiosity before they leave my mouth: Did I actually do something wrong here, or am I simply being human?

Because those two things are not the same.

Perhaps the real question should be: What if, just occasionally, I stopped believing I was the problem?

So the next time I catch myself trying to apologise to a chest of drawers for blocking its path, I will try to remember: the furniture isn't keeping score.

Now there's a thought worth sitting with. Preferably with that cup of tea.
Here are two more pieces you’re welcome to visit next: 

When Self-Compassion Feels Impossible: Learning the Language of Kindness

Your Worth and Your Worry: Why Anxiety Doesn’t Make You Less

Thanks for reading and virtual hugs to you all. 

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