The Year I Finally Stopped Apologizing

The Year I Finally Stopped Apologizing

By Hasnain Shah

For as long as I can remember, the word sorry lived on the tip of my tongue. It didn’t matter if I was at fault or not—if someone bumped into me at the grocery store, if a waiter brought me the wrong order, if a coworker interrupted me mid-sentence—I apologized. My friends joked that I could apologize to a chair if I walked into it, and honestly, they weren’t wrong.

For years, I thought my constant apologizing was politeness. In reality, it was something much heavier: a belief that I didn’t deserve to take up space, that my comfort should come second, that avoiding conflict was safer than asserting myself.

Then came the year everything changed—the year I finally stopped apologizing.

The Breaking Point

It happened quietly, the way most big changes do. I was sitting in a work meeting when I started to make a point about a project I’d been leading. Halfway through my sentence, someone interrupted me. Reflexively, I said, “Oh, sorry—go ahead.”

Except I wasn’t sorry. I hadn’t done anything wrong. And for the first time, I actually felt the weight of what I had given away: my voice, my authority, my right to finish a thought.

That night, I went home angry—not at the coworker, but at myself. How many times had I done this? How many apologies had I given out like candy, shrinking myself so others could stand taller?

I decided then that something had to change.

Small Experiments in No

The next day, I tried an experiment. Instead of saying, “Sorry I’m late,” when traffic held me up, I said, “Thanks for waiting.” Instead of apologizing when I needed clarification, I said, “Can you explain that again?” without the self-blame attached.

At first, it felt unnatural, like I was speaking someone else’s language. My mouth itched to form the familiar sorry. But the more I practiced, the lighter I felt. I realized how much energy I had wasted trying to soften my existence.

Of course, there were times I should apologize—when I hurt someone, when I messed up, when I wasn’t considerate. But that’s different. Real apologies mean something. The empty ones? They were just erasing me.

Learning Boundaries

Stopping the automatic apologies was only the beginning. The deeper work was learning boundaries.

I had always been the person who said yes. Extra tasks at work? Yes. Helping a friend move at the last minute, even when I was exhausted? Yes. Listening to someone vent for hours even though I had my own problems boiling inside me? Yes, yes, yes.

But every yes that came from guilt or fear of rejection was another way of apologizing for my own needs.

So I started practicing another hard word: no.

No, I can’t take on that project right now.

No, I’m not available this weekend.

No, that doesn’t work for me.

At first, I worried people would think I was selfish. But something surprising happened—most people respected it. And the ones who didn’t? They had been benefitting from my lack of boundaries, and maybe they were never really in my corner.

Valuing Myself

The year I stopped apologizing wasn’t just about words. It was about finally believing that I was allowed to exist without constantly explaining or excusing myself.

I began to notice little shifts. I spoke more confidently in meetings. I didn’t shrink when someone disagreed with me. I let my laughter be loud, my opinions be clear, my presence be known.

And instead of feeling guilty, I felt free.

The relationships in my life changed, too. My closest friends told me I seemed lighter, more grounded. With my family, I felt less like the peacekeeper and more like a person with her own needs. Even with strangers, I carried myself differently—not aggressively, but with quiet self-assurance.

The Ongoing Journey

I won’t pretend I never slip up. Old habits don’t vanish overnight, and sometimes sorry still sneaks out when I don’t mean it. But now, I catch myself. I pause. I reframe.

The truth is, stopping the endless apologies didn’t make me harder or colder. It made me stronger, clearer, and more compassionate—because compassion that comes from strength is far more powerful than compassion that comes from fear.

Looking back, I realize I wasn’t just overusing a word. I was apologizing for existing, for taking up space, for being human.

And I don’t do that anymore.

Because the year I finally stopped apologizing was the year I finally started living.