Think back to the last time you said “sorry.”
Not because you truly hurt someone, but because you thought you might have inconvenienced them. Or because you needed help. Or because you were simply taking up space.
I notice it in myself when my anxiety ramps up. And the “sorry for…” list? It’s endless.
The Silly Little “Sorrys”
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Sorry for breathing too loud.
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Sorry for taking the last cookie.
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Sorry for texting you twice in a row.
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Sorry for asking a stupid question.
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Sorry for sneezing… again.
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Sorry for laughing too loud.
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Sorry for laughing too quietly.
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Sorry for moving my chair.
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Sorry for interrupting.
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Sorry my bracelet clinked.
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Sorry for emailing you during work hours.
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Sorry for emailing you outside of work hours.
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Sorry I didn’t know the answer.
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Sorry I did know the answer.
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Sorry for making eye contact too long.
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Sorry for not making eye contact enough.
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Sorry for needing directions… again.
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Sorry for talking about my cat.
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Sorry for wearing the same sweater as last week.
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Sorry for moving too slow.
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Sorry for walking too fast.
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Sorry for existing.
You get the picture. And maybe you’re laughing right now because you’ve said half of those… this week.
The Roots of “Sorry”
But here’s the thing. This isn’t just about being polite.
If you grew up with undiagnosed ADHD, you know exactly what I’m talking about:
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The report cards that said, “With concentrated effort, could be an astounding student.”
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The constant comments about being late, disorganized, distracted.
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The times you were told to “just try harder.”
Dr. William Dodson, a leading ADHD expert, notes that by age 12, children with ADHD have received around 20,000 more negative messages from parents, teachers, and other adults than their peers without ADHD.
Twenty. Thousand.
By middle school, many of us had already internalized that we were “wrong” before we even opened our mouths.
And for women especially, who often weren’t diagnosed until adulthood, another layer kicks in: we learn to use anxiety as a management strategy.
It’s not intentional. It’s survival.
When your brain struggles with activation, anxiety can feel like the only fuel that works. The racing thoughts, the elevated heart rate, the constant “what if” loop - they push you into motion when nothing else will.
Over years, that becomes your operating system. And the anxiety? It amplifies the sorrys. Because now you’re not only managing ADHD; you’re managing the fear of disappointing people before it even happens.
Every “Sorry” Is a Self-Erasure
Here’s what no one talks about:
Every automatic “sorry” is a tiny act of self-erasure.
It tells your brain: I’m wrong by default. It reinforces the belief that your needs, your pace, your way of being are inconveniences that must be excused.
And over time? That shapes your identity.
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You start to believe you are the problem.
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You shrink before anyone else can shrink you.
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You speak softer, take up less room, keep your ideas to yourself.
That’s the grief in this conversation:
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Grief for the years you muted yourself.
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Grief for the confidence you might have had.
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Grief for all the times you stayed silent when you had something powerful to say.
Unapologetic Swifty
But every now and then, we get reminders of what it looks like to be unapologetically yourself.
For me, one of those reminders came from …drum roll… Taylor Swift.
I was a reluctant Swifty, late to the party. My daughter fell in love with Taylor’s music in high school, and my real introduction was through her playing on a T Swift School of Rock show. The beat. The lyrics. The lessons.
I admired Taylor’s message, her marketing, her business acumen. But the real story started when we tried for Eras Tour tickets. Months of failed attempts. Nearly scammed four times. Up at 3 AM for European pre-sale. Website crashes. At 6 AM, shaking my daughter awake: we got tickets! Vienna, Night One.
Then the news just hours after we got settled into our hotel: a terrorist threat. All three shows canceled. We made the best of it, but there were so many tears.
And yet, in that heartbreaking moment, I witnessed something: Swifties being unapologetically too much. Loud, glittery, united, singing, exchanging friendship bracelets.
Taylor herself embodies that go big or go home energy. Unapologetic in her quirks and her too-muchness.
For me, Vienna became a reminder: no damn terrorist was going to stop me from living my life.
The Redemption Tour
Vienna was only the middle of the story.
Months later, I had a total YOLO moment.
I bought Miami Night One (new Reputation bodysuit, baby) for the two of us. The literal last row but we were in the room. We called it our Redemption Tour.
Special thanks to Granny (who bought my daughter’s tickets) and every travel point we scraped together. Making friendship bracelets at midnight. FaceTiming our outfits. Travel plans made. Bags packed. And we were on our way.
In the car, dressed as Mirrorball and Reputation (if you know, you know), we agreed: we wouldn’t believe it was real until Taylor sang her first note. And we’d probably cry.
We did.
From the first note to the very last, it was magic. Even from the last row.
And sitting there with my daughter, thousands singing at the top of their lungs, I realized: this wasn’t just a concert. It was what it feels like to show up fully. To take up space. To live in your too-muchness without apology.
And then Taylor herself gave me the words on her New Heights interview last week:
“Think of your energy like a luxury item.”
If our energy is that precious, why are we wasting it on apologizing for existing?
What We Can Choose Instead
Grace.
Grace can look like not shrinking yourself to make everyone else comfortable.
Grace is being fully who you are (quirks, glitter, too-muchness, and all) and knowing you belong.
Grace says, “I understand why you learned to apologize like that — it kept you safe.”
Grace says, “We’re not doing shame about this. We’re doing awareness.”
Grace says, “You’re allowed to take up space, exactly as you are, without a permission slip.”
So here’s your experiment this week:
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Notice when “sorry” comes out automatically.
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Ask yourself: Did I do something wrong, or am I apologizing for existing?
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Try a swap:
It’s small, but it’s powerful.
The Invitation
You’ve spent years saying sorry for who you are.
Now you get to practice saying: This is me.
This isn’t about never apologizing. It’s about reclaiming the choice.
When you do apologize, let it be real, not reflex. And when you don’t? Stand in that silence with self-respect.
Because you are not an inconvenience. You are not a mistake to be fixed. You are a whole, complex, brilliant human being.
So here’s my invitation to you: Notice the “sorry.” Offer yourself grace in the pause.
And remember that you’re
Brilliant. Bold. Badass. No apologies required.
