I say “I’m sorry” — by a rough estimate — about one hundred seventy-two times a day: a possibly accurate, or probably false, figure. I start sentences with “I’m sorry, but can I just say,” or end them with “so I’m sorry, but why is that?” What started as a harmless speech impediment, similar to the use of “like” or “um”, devolved into me apologizing for everything without attaching meaning to those apologies. I would apologize for my viewpoints before saying them — without realizing that I was actually degrading myself. Not only was I debasing my opinions: I was slowly destructing the value of the phrase. I poked and pulled and prodded at those two simple words until they were virtually meaningless. If I apologize to you at any time of day, it is highly likely I have already apologized to at least thirty people before you, so why is that apology even important? Why do I do this? Why do I belittle such an important, albeit simple, sentence and myself in the process? I would call it insecurity, but I’ve never considered myself insecure. I could name it sexism, but I grew up in an empowering household that stressed my worth. The sad truth of my dilemma is that I do not believe there is an answer. How can I explain away years of false apologies for trivial matters not even worthy of my attention? I can’t. In a world where there is constantly more to apologize for, my apologies should not be wasted and demeaned. My apologies should be saved for moments of grief and hardship, or moments when there is something that I need to remedy. My apologies should be a sacred thing given to those I care for with the utmost tenderness and truth. But, alas, that is not the case. I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time in reading this. I am sorry if I have bored you, I am sorry if you don’t agree with my opinions, and I am sorry again to be — as I always am — sorry.