Count how many times you say "sorry" today.
Just today.
Keep a tally on your phone.
If you're anything like I was, the number will disturb you.
Sorry for asking a question.
Sorry for taking up space in a doorway.
Sorry to the waiter, for his mistake.
Sorry as a way of starting sentences, like a toll you pay before being allowed to speak.
Here's the thing about the “apology reflex”: it has almost nothing to do with being sorry.
A real apology is a repair.
You did harm, you own it, you fix it.
That's a masculine act. It takes spine (balls!).
The “apology reflex” is something else entirely.
It's a flinch.
A pre-emptive surrender that says: I sense you might be about to be displeased, so let me shrink before you get the chance.
You're not apologising for what you did.
You're apologising for existing in a way that might inconvenience someone (even temporarily).
And every single one of those little sorries teaches your nervous system the same lesson:
My presence is a problem to be managed (I AM A BURDEN).
It teaches her something too.
A woman can't feel safe with a man who treats his own existence as an inconvenience.
Because there's nothing solid for her to lean on.
So here's this week's practice, and it's probably harder than it sounds:
Replace your “reflex-sorries” with the true sentence underneath it.
"Sorry, can I ask something?" becomes "I have a question."
"Sorry I'm talking a lot" becomes "This matters to me."
"Sorry for going on about it" becomes silence, held, while they respond.
Notice what your body does when you don't flinch.
That discomfort is the people-pleaser in you dying.
Let it happen.
And stay courageous,
Oliver
P.S. Whenever you're ready to work on this with me 1:1, everything starts here: Pleaser to Leader.
