Early in my career, I botched a client presentation. Not catastrophically, but badly enough that we missed a crucial deadline, and the team had to scramble. As I sat in my car afterward, I rehearsed what I’d say: “I’m sorry the timing didn’t work out, but honestly, they changed the requirements three times, and the budget constraints made it nearly impossible…” I’d practiced several versions of that before I stopped myself mid-sentence. I wasn’t apologizing, I was protecting myself. The truth? I’d been overwhelmed, made assumptions instead of asking questions, and delivered something half-baked because I thought I could wing it. The shifting requirements and tight budget were real, but they weren’t the reason I failed. I was.
So, I walked back in and said something different: “I’m sorry. I didn’t prepare adequately for this, and that cost your team time and stress they didn’t deserve. You trusted me to deliver, and I let you down. Here’s what I’m going to do to fix this, and here’s how I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” The silence that followed felt eternal. Then my client leaned forward and responded with “I appreciate you saying that. Let’s figure out how to move forward.” A moment that could have ended our relationship became the moment that started it.
We’ve all received the counterfeit version of an apology: “I’m sorry if you were offended.” “I’m sorry, but you have to understand my position.” “I’m sorry you feel that way.”, and so forth. These aren’t apologies, they’re dodges. They shift responsibility, lack accountability, and make the apologizer feel better while leaving the other person feeling worse. They are, at best, insincere.
I watched this play out at a dinner with friends when a conversation had devolved into good-natured ball-busting until someone crossed a line. The room went quiet. Instead of owning the moment, the person who made the comment doubled down: “Come on, I was just kidding. I’m sorry you feel that way.” The damage was instant and visible. What started as harmless banter turned into an awkward end to the evening and likely left a rift in their relationship.
An authentic apology does three things. First, it takes ownership, no excuses, no “but.” Second, it acknowledges the impact: “I see that what I said made you question whether I respect you.” Third, it commits to change: “I’ll think before I speak next time.” Notice what’s missing: your reasons, your stress levels, your good intentions, and placing blame on others. Those might all be true, but they don’t belong in an apology.
The people who can’t apologize aren’t protecting their strength; they’re advertising their weakness. Real strength is being able to say “I was wrong” without your sense of self crumbling. It shows humility, empathy, and care for the relationship over your pride.
“Apologies aren’t meant to change the past, they’re meant to change the future.” – Kevin Hancock
So, here’s my challenge: Think of someone you owe an apology to, not a fake one, not a qualified one, not one loaded with explanations. A real one. What would happen if you picked up the phone right now?
Have a good weekend.
-Vijay