Sorry as Survival
How over-apologizing became my shield—and why I'm learning to lay it down.
Born into apology
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been sorry.
My earliest memories of apologizing coincide with meals consistently not being cooked to my parents’ liking. On the weekends, we’d hit up one of their favorite restaurants—a blend of American chains and Pennsylvania Dutch offerings. As a grade schooler, I’d set a mental clock to estimate how long it would take for my parents to send their entrees back to the kitchen. My eyes hovered over the double swing doors as I awaited a visit from the manager, who would undoubtedly clear a portion of the check. Sometimes, a badge was flashed on my father’s behalf, sometimes not.
I’d apologize profusely for them, distracting myself from the embarrassment by persuading my parents to buy me a foil-wrapped York Peppermint Patty from the register. They’d sign the check while I stuffed the empty foil with bits of napkin, attempting to sculpt it back into its original shape. Here, you can have it, I’d say, thinking maybe this time I’d fooled my mother with my false generosity.
Carrying sorry into adulthood
Apologizing didn’t end there. It has carried me into adulthood, where I apologize with ease. During 59 hours of unmedicated childbirth, I apologized with Pitocin coursing through me, as I asked my partner and doula to eat their pizza in the hallway because I couldn’t handle the smell during transition.
As a wedding photographer, throughout years of nursing our children, I’d proactively reach out to venues in advance to inquire about a private space to pump. If I was lucky, there’d be an office where event staff would weave in and out. But typically, I was left with a single bathroom stall as my only option. I’d apologize as my unlockable door would get barged in on by a groom’s mother as she demanded to use the space while I rushed to cover my milk-splattered chest. I’d leave engorged, stained, and envious of people who have the capacity to command space.
Both of our children had milk protein allergies, which meant if I ate dairy while nursing, I’d soon be met with blood-filled stools and neon green spit-up that looked like it belonged inside glow necklaces before they lost their light.
At weddings, I’m usually offered a vendor meal and asked in advance if I have any allergies. Marriers would send my dairy-free meal request along to the caterer, confident that I’d be in good care. But when the wedding day arrived, a coordinator would almost always hand me something cheese-filled. Sorry for burdening you, I’d respond, while rushing to a quiet corner to shove a Larabar in my face.
Non-apologies and double standards
On the topic of weddings–a term that many marriers can’t escape before they even start planning is “bridezilla.” Defined by Oxford Languages as “A woman whose behavior in planning her wedding is regarded as obsessive or intolerably demanding.” While many men get applauded for their ability to play devil’s advocate, women in power positions are often labeled “divas” or “difficult.”
During a 2017 interview with Vogue, Roxane Gay discussed writing Difficult Women. “I think women are oftentimes termed ‘difficult’ when we want too much, when we ask for too much, when we think too highly of ourselves, or have any kind of standards.” She goes on to say, “I wanted to play with this idea that women are difficult, when in reality, it’s generally the people around them who are the difficult ones.”
To balance out my own people-pleasing tendencies to over-apologize, I blast “Sorry” by Beyonce or watch franchise after franchise of Real Housewives. I’ve developed a strong admiration for season-long arguments with non-apologies artfully served at a 3-part reunion.
Coping mechanisms, social dynamics, and systems of privilege
It wasn’t until my recent diagnosis of OCD—layered on top of my experiences as a late- diagnosed Autistic person with ADHD—that I began to understand why apologies have felt like a means of survival.
Learning that my compulsive apologizing is part of my OCD, alongside Autism and ADHD, helped me understand that it’s not just a social habit—it’s a coping mechanism. A nervous system reflex. A trauma response. When you’ve faced a lifetime of rejection (explicitly or subtly) for being “too much” or “not enough,” saying sorry becomes a shield in one hand when you’re already holding a mask with the other.
It’s not just about me, though. Many of us, especially those with intersecting identities, navigate this world with apologies on standby.
Recently, I asked friends on Instagram why they over-apologize in their everyday lives. A fellow photographer shared how she often apologizes for being late after getting stuck in a ritual loop while leaving the house. Another friend acknowledged their over-apologizing originates from childhood abuse and cPTSD. Others explained how they say sorry when feeling hyper aware of taking up space in public. Many (myself included) even apologize to inanimate objects for bumping into them.
Some shared how they apologize merely for being themselves. Or for asking questions, needing additional time to process information, and wanting further details.
The roots of the word “sorry” come from the Old English sārig, meaning “distressed, full of sorrow.” But today, it often functions more as a social lubricant for marginalized people with less power. We learn to apologize not just for our actions, but for existing in ways that make others uncomfortable.
How apologizing varies by identity
Apologizing isn’t always strictly a personal habit. It can also vary by neurotype. While these patterns aren’t monolithic, they reflect common social dynamics shaped by systemic privilege, marginalization, and neurodivergence.
In some online neurodivergent communities, there can be a focus on creating spaces where apologies aren’t used excessively or unnecessarily. Perhaps similarly to when a person over-apologizes for misgendering someone. At a certain point, the attention often turns to the harm-doer in need of soothing. Some communities may instead encourage reframing apologies as an expression of gratitude to reduce the emotional labor on marginalized individuals. Other times, neurodivergent folks may double down in polarized thinking and avoid accountability altogether (see: Elon Musk).
As Autistic individuals, some of us may struggle with self-acceptance, which can look like leaning into masking and people-pleasing tendencies. When internalized ableism overlaps with societal expectations, we may end up apologizing for things like stimming, even when our stims aren’t disruptive or harmful. Our repetition of sorries could also become a verbal stim that provides a sense of predictability when scripting goes out the window. Unmasking can also come with its own skill regression, and at times, an overabundance of apologizing.
When we consider the experiences of non-speaking Autistics, how might the complexities of apologizing shift when communication is mediated through AAC devices or other alternative methods? How might the pressure to apologize manifest differently in these contexts? These are questions I find myself thinking about as I explore the diversity of neurodivergent experiences, while recognizing I don’t have the lived knowledge to answer them.
For those of us with OCD, our brain may create compulsions as a form of self-soothing. And for those of us with ADHD, many of us are trying to unlearn the shame that often accompanies forgetfulness or disorganization.
Neurodivergent experiences with apologizing often intersect with broader societal pressures. This compulsive need to apologize doesn’t just exist in a vacuum. It reflects the environments we navigate, where we’re expected to shrink ourselves, mask, or accommodate for others’ comfort.
Below is a visual breakdown of how apologies may manifest differently across various identities, along with some brief underlying reasons for these behaviors.
By unraveling these patterns and acknowledging how they’ve been shaped by personal and systemic factors, we can begin to unlearn the compulsions that come with saying sorry. This process likely varies greatly for each of us, but it’s part of our collective effort to be in community with each other.
Apologies, power, and performance
While I’ve spent my life over-apologizing for things as simple as making eye contact with someone in a grocery store, there are still many of us who don’t apologize—especially in moments when we should.
If you notice yourself over or under-apologizing, it might be worth asking: Whose comfort am I prioritizing, and why? Some of us may use apologies to avoid feeling suppressed guilt, while others sidestep accountability entirely—minimizing or ignoring harm caused to the most marginalized communities. Too often, the emotional burden of forgiveness or "grace" is left for those who were harmed.
Marginalized individuals—especially Black, trans women, femmes, and queer folks— are often expected to perform politeness, humility, and emotional labor to aid in the comfort of others. In some ways similar to masking or code switching, apologizing becomes about both survival and performance: a way to disarm.
In a CNBC article about how saying “I’m sorry” at work can make you look weak, Ashton Jackson interviews Career Nomad CEO Patrice Williams Lindo. “We are taught culturally, especially from a Black woman’s perspective, to be super humble and downplay our wins. That’s how I was raised,” Lindo says. “It was a problem to be prideful in the way you spoke about yourself and your accomplishments. So we feel inadequate and insecure.”
Jackson goes on to explain how the need to over-apologize is born from a pattern of self-doubt. And how we use “sorry” as a space-filler when dealing with the discomfort of silence.
For neurodivergent people such as myself, the compulsion to apologize often stems from fears of confrontation, rejection, or misunderstanding. And it is also shaped by broader cultural scripts about who has the privilege of making mistakes.
Small acts of reclamation
I recently tried to track all of the apologies that escaped me in one day, but I lost the energy after an hour of phone calls to health insurance providers. I apologized for things like my long-winded email address or for the fact that our insurance recently changed.
Rather than providing a detailed log of my regrets, I decided to share the ways I’ve slightly shaved down my sorries. For clarity, I am still very much over-apologizing, but I am noticing subtle shifts in my language.
When going into apology mode, sit and stay with the discomfort. Be compassionate and get curious about where the unsettled feeling originated.
Instead of saying “sorry,” consider swapping it with “thank you” or “excuse me” instead. This is especially manageable with emails (Ctrl+F “sorry” or “apologize”), but in unscripted, real-life scenarios, it can be easier said than done.
Wear headphones and a mask in public to help decrease the need to engage.
Explore different forms of communication. I’ve been taking ASL classes, where I notice a substantial decrease in my apologizing because I have to pause and think before signing.
Breaking the sorry cycle
Educating my kids about consent and autonomy has included teaching them to make amends (or not) on their own timeline. When we don’t force parroted apologies, it can come with some initial discomfort—like the frustration of receiving an apology later than you’d like, or the tension of holding yourself accountable. But it also teaches that a real apology should be born from understanding, not obligation.
When we grow up learning that our voice matters, maybe we’re less inclined to shrink ourselves into spaces where we were never truly welcome.
I still say “sorry” more times a day than I can count. But when that word falls out, I take a mental pause. And with each slip (and some ruminating), I forgive myself a little more, knowing that my sorries have helped me survive up until this point.