The Day I Stopped Apologizing for Existing

By Asadullah Azimi

I used to say “sorry” for everything — and I mean everything.

If someone bumped into me on the street, I apologized. If my food order came out wrong, I apologized. If I laughed too loud, cried too easily, took up space in a room, or simply had a different opinion, I apologized — as though existing in my own skin required permission.

It wasn’t always like this. I was once a bold, curious child. I’d climb trees without fear, sing loudly without shame, and ask questions with unfiltered wonder. But somewhere between growing up and growing quieter, I learned that being “too much” made people uncomfortable — and being “too little” made me invisible. I chose invisible. It felt safer.

In high school, I mastered the art of blending in. I became who people needed me to be — the good student, the polite friend, the agreeable listener. Never disruptive. Never demanding. I smiled when I didn’t feel like it. I laughed when I wanted to cry. I made my voice smaller in every room.

I didn't know it at the time, but I was training myself to disappear.

One day during college, something cracked. I had just finished a group project that I had practically done alone. My groupmates — two charming extroverts and one guy who never showed up — stood in front of the class and presented my work. I sat in the back, smiling meekly, letting them shine.

After class, our professor pulled me aside. I expected a compliment or even a quiet acknowledgment. But instead, he said something I’ll never forget.

"You give away your power like it's candy."

I stared at him, confused.

“You’ve done all the heavy lifting, but you’re too afraid to own it. That won’t serve you out there,” he said, pointing toward the window — toward the world I was preparing to enter.

I walked back to my dorm in silence that day. His words stayed in my chest like an echo I couldn’t unhear. It wasn’t just about that project. It was about everything.

Why was I so scared of being seen?

The Weight of Apology

Apologizing had become my default setting. I apologized when my mental health spiraled, like I was a burden for feeling anxious or sad. I apologized when I set a boundary, then felt guilty for days. I apologized for asking for help, as though my needs were an inconvenience.

It took years — and therapy — to understand where it came from.

Part of it was cultural. I grew up in a household where emotions were not expressed freely. Part of it was gendered — as a girl, I was taught to be accommodating, kind, soft. But the biggest part was fear: the fear that if I showed my full self, people would walk away.

And sometimes, they did. But those were the people who needed me quiet to feel big.

The Shift

Change came slowly, in small and uncomfortable steps. I started by noticing how often I said “sorry.” I kept a tally in my phone. Some days, it was over 30 times — many of them for things completely outside my control.

So I started replacing “sorry” with “thank you.”

Instead of: “Sorry I’m late.”

I said: “Thanks for waiting.”

Instead of: “Sorry I’m so emotional.”

I said: “Thank you for holding space for me.”

It felt awkward at first, even arrogant. But over time, I realized that I wasn’t demanding anything from anyone — I was simply reclaiming the right to exist as a full human being.

Not Everyone Likes the New You

Let me be clear: not everyone celebrated my change.

Some friends drifted away. They were used to the agreeable version of me. The one who never said no, never challenged them, never needed anything back. When I stopped being easy, they stopped being around.

It hurt. A lot. But I learned that losing people who only love the silent version of you is actually a gain.

Who I Am Now

I don’t have it all figured out. I still catch myself slipping into apology mode. I still worry about being “too much” sometimes. But I’ve stopped shrinking for the comfort of others.

I raise my hand in meetings. I say what I think. I rest when I’m tired without guilt. I cry without shame. I let myself be proud — really proud — of the things I’ve built.

Most importantly, I stopped needing permission to be myself.

A Message for Anyone Who Feels Small

If you’re reading this and it feels like your story too — I want you to know something:

You don’t have to earn your place in the world by being quiet, helpful, or agreeable.

You are allowed to take up space.

You are allowed to speak up.

You are allowed to be celebrated — not just tolerated.

Stop apologizing for your existence.

You were never too much.

You were never not enough.

You were always exactly right — they just couldn’t see it.

But I do. And soon, you will too.