How many times have you said sorry today?
No, really—count.
“Sorry, I’m late.”
“Sorry, I didn’t see your message.”
“Sorry, can I ask a quick question?”
“Sorry, just wanted to check in…”
By lunchtime, most of us could fill a swear jar’s worth of sorries and then some.
The Meeting That Made Me Think
Today, I had a meeting with a senior executive from another country. Important guy. The kind whose calendar probably needs its own assistant.
The meeting before ours ran over (as they always do), and by the time we got started, we were already behind schedule. Then, of course, we got into one of those lively discussions that refuse to stay neatly within the 30-minute box. Fifteen minutes past our time, I noticed the clock and reflexively blurted,
“Apologies for running over.”
He looked me straight in the eye and said,
“Why are you apologising?”
And I just… froze.
I had no answer.
It wasn’t my fault, not entirely. Yet I felt the need to fill that awkward air pocket with something soft, something polite, something… apologetic.
The “Sorry” Reflex
A friend of mine does this too. Every message starts with:
“Sorry to disturb, but can you chat?”
And every time, I think why sorry? You’re not disturbing me; you’re communicating. That’s literally the point of messaging.
We say sorry for existing in someone’s inbox, for taking up a sliver of time, for walking into a room, for reaching for the same coffee cup at a café. It’s as if “sorry” has become a verbal cushion a way to soften our presence, just in case it might inconvenience someone.
But here’s the thing: when “sorry” becomes a reflex, it loses its meaning. It’s like saying “bless you” after a sneeze automatic, thoughtless, and mostly about the speaker’s comfort, not the listener’s.
The Psychology of Over-Apologising
Apologising can be a social lubricant, sure. It smooths over rough edges, keeps conversations polite, and signals empathy. But too much of it? It starts to look like self-erasure.
Sometimes, saying sorry is our way of filling the silence those awkward white spaces where we feel exposed. Other times, it’s a subconscious strategy to appear agreeable, likable, non-threatening. Especially in professional settings, where hierarchy and perception can weigh heavy, we often use “sorry” as a shield against judgment.
But that shield can easily turn into a shackle.
Every unnecessary sorry whispers, “I don’t deserve to take up space.”
And over time, those whispers can shape how others see us—and how we see ourselves.
What Confident People Do Differently
I once read that some leaders never apologise for being late. Instead, they walk in with composure and say,
“What did I miss?”
or
“Glad you got started without me.”
At first, that sounded arrogant. But it’s not really about ego it’s about tone. It acknowledges the situation without self-punishment. It’s forward-facing rather than self-defeating.
There’s a subtle confidence in that. It says, “I value your time, but I also value mine.”
When you think about it, constantly apologising for small things sends the opposite message it highlights fault where there often isn’t one.
When Sorry Does Matter
Of course, there are moments when sorry is sacred.
When we’ve hurt someone, missed a promise, or broken trust an apology isn’t just words; it’s repair work. It’s how relationships are maintained, not just patched.
A genuine apology carries intention. It acknowledges harm, takes responsibility, and opens a door for healing. It’s not performative it’s connective.
But when we sprinkle apologies over every conversation like confetti, it cheapens the ones that truly matter. It’s like saying “love you” so often that it starts to sound like “hey.” Lovely, but hollow.
The Gender Angle (Because Let’s Be Honest)
Studies have actually shown that women tend to apologise more frequently than men not because they mess up more, but because they perceive more things as apology-worthy. Cultural conditioning plays a role here. Many of us were raised to be polite, agreeable, accommodating to smooth things over rather than cause waves.
But politeness doesn’t have to mean self-diminishment. You can be kind and assertive. Consider how much stronger it sounds to say:
“Thanks for waiting,”
instead of
“Sorry I’m late.”
One acknowledges others without shrinking yourself. Small shift, big difference.
The Energy Behind Words
If language shapes perception and it does then every “sorry” carries energy.
It sets the tone before the real message even lands.
Think about it:
- “Sorry to bother you” feels like a knock from someone who doesn’t believe they should be at your door.
- “Do you have a minute to chat?” feels like confident curiosity.
Same intent, completely different energy.
Maybe that’s what my executive friend was getting at when he asked, “Why are you apologising?”
Maybe he was really saying, “You don’t have to.”
Rewriting the Habit
So how do we unlearn it?
You don’t need to become the person who never says sorry that’s its own kind of tone-deaf. But you can start being intentional about why and when you say it.
Try this:
- Swap “Sorry I’m late” → “Thanks for your patience.”
- Swap “Sorry to disturb” → “Is now a good time?”
- Swap “Sorry, I didn’t get that” → “Could you please repeat that?”
- Swap “Sorry, I can’t make it” → “I won’t be able to join, but let’s reschedule.”
Each small change keeps the respect, removes the guilt.
My Own “Sorry” Count
Writing this, I started noticing how often I say sorry without cause.
In one day, I counted nine. Nine times I preemptively apologised for existing.
And for what? Being human? Having meetings run late? Sending a message?
It’s a habit so deeply woven into modern politeness that we barely notice it anymore. But awareness is the first step to change.
So, Over to You
How many times have you said sorry today?
Drop just the number in the comments—no context, no explanation. Let’s see what kind of collective “sorry count” we rack up.
And maybe, just maybe, the next time you feel that sorry rising in your throat, pause.
Ask yourself: Is this empathy—or insecurity?
If it’s the latter, take a breath, smile, and keep it moving.
Because sometimes, the most powerful thing you can say… is nothing at all.