I wondered why I constantly feel like I have to apologize for everything. To be honest, it’s annoying to me—and I imagine it’s annoying to others, too.

Turns out, according to actual research (remember when that was a thing?), the constant urge to apologize can come from several sources: low self-esteem, fear of conflict, and trauma response.

Well, wow. I don’t just have one—I’ve got the trifecta.

Low self-esteem? Lifelong companion. I had it in spades growing up. Constant school changes, a shift from moderate to low income, and social withdrawal made me that quiet, aloof kid with two pairs of jeans, a handful of shirts, and a suit that was a donation from a church family. That suit, by the way, had a glorious 1970s hang glider collar. I wore it maybe three times, one of which ended up immortalized in my 9th grade yearbook. That was a surreal trip down memory lane.

I never really had the chance to establish friendships. Being the new kid in a small town where everyone had grown up together made me The Outsider. My wardrobe didn’t help. Clothes got worn and reworn before laundry day, so I was often “the dirty kid.” I wasn’t exceptional in any way—no sports, no academic stardom, not even in band. I was just there.

Fast forward 45 years: I went back to Kansas for my 40th reunion. Several classmates told me they thought I was nice, but withdrawn and hard to talk to. That tracked. When your family implodes right before high school, you don’t exactly radiate openness. But hearing those reflections made me feel better. I came away feeling seen, and maybe even understood.

That self-esteem problem? It morphed over time into a fear of conflict and body image issues. I was never athletic. I felt like the fat kid. And, for a fun bit of oversharing, I started puberty well before the others—complete with body hair while everyone else still looked like cherubs. Weirdly enough, that was ridiculed. Go figure.

Then you throw trauma into the mix—combat, sexual assault (both in and out of uniform), domestic violence, and, of course, the cumulative horror show that is a medical career. Not all trauma becomes PTSD. But if it changes your behavior and hijacks your responses? That’s PTSD. And when it piles up without resolution, it can really warp how you operate.

I developed a habit of apologizing for even mentioning my trauma. Like somehow acknowledging it was making someone else’s life worse. As if I was responsible for other people’s discomfort.

And let’s talk about the domestic violence piece. Fear of conflict becomes a survival tactic. You start preemptively apologizing, walking on eggshells, hoping to prevent an explosion that’s coming regardless. The apologies don’t stop the violence. They just give you a false sense of control.

“I’m sorry” becomes an admission of guilt. And in abusive situations, you already feel like everything is your fault. That inner voice tells you that you’re unworthy of love, respect, or even basic decency.

Case in point: After bariatric surgery, I lost a significant amount of weight. My abuser told me I looked worse, accused me of “cheating,” and weaponized my progress as a failure. That’s the kind of manipulation that rewires your brain.

And where does that leave me? Still exhausted. Still catching myself saying “I’m sorry” when I’ve done nothing wrong. Therapy helps, but the instinct is ingrained. Maybe the real goal isn’t to stop saying it—but to stop believing it means I’m responsible for things that aren’t mine to carry.

You can control how you treat your dog and your mom. Start there. And if you do right by them, maybe—just maybe—you won’t need to say you’re sorry.