A seven-day experiment, the awkward moments to expect, and the sentence that replaces "sorry"
Scroll back through your sent folder and tally every message where you said sorry. Skip the ones that really mattered and focus on the reflexive ones: "Sorry for the wait." "Sorry to interrupt." "Sorry, may I add one thing?" Among women in senior roles across Richmond and the surrounding counties, that tally tends to shock people, and very few of those apologies were for anything that needed forgiveness.
Here is what you're up against. Beginning Monday, "sorry" is saved for real harm: a missed deadline that cost someone, or a mistake that truly mattered. Everything else gets a substitute. What follows is a rough day-by-day account of how the week tends to go, along with the phrases that make it work.
By days 1 and 2 you begin to notice it, here in Richmond as anywhere.
What stands out first is the sheer frequency with which the word slips out of your mouth. It shows up in email openings, when you walk into a meeting, and right before you ask something that was already answered. Roughly half of those slips you will manage to catch while they are still forming. For a first week, that counts as success.
Replacements to try: "Thanks for your patience" in place of "Sorry for the delay." "Let me add something" instead of "Sorry, can I just." "Here's where things stand" rather than "Sorry it took so long."
On days 3 and 4 it starts to feel awkward, the way it does on a Henrico commute that runs long.
With the softening gone, your statements arrive carrying more weight than you have been used to giving them. Your ask lands as a plain ask. Your fix comes across as a plain fix. This is the point where most people abandon the effort, reading the discomfort as bad manners. It isn't. It is simply what a sentence sounds like without an apology up front, and your colleagues in Richmond's offices hear that from their male peers all day long.
If you want to soften a message, use something genuine: "I appreciate you turning this around so quickly" expresses warmth without apologizing for anything. Write down the three phrases you use most often, along with a replacement for each, and keep the note near your keyboard. It sounds basic, and it works, because the habit moves faster than your good intentions do.
By day five, the reactions of the people around you tend to shift.
By Friday, the replies you get back start to shift. Replies arrive sooner. Fewer people re-explain things you had already understood. The change is subtle, and that subtlety is the point: a sentence that opens with an apology invites the reader to grant you something. When a message leads with the matter at hand, people feel prompted to take the next step. You might also see which of your colleagues were fonder of the earlier wording. Noting that is worthwhile too.
The single principle that keeps you approachable
Keep cozy. This experiment isn't about removing warmth; it is about removing the implication that you owe people something just for taking up their time. "Sorry" was doing two jobs at once. Hold on to the warmth and let go of the apologetic phrasing.
Situations where an apology still belongs
Those moments when you truly erred and another person bore the cost. Offer it one time, offer it completely, and state the concrete change you intend to make. Because you use it rarely, an apology from you lands with real significance.
Share how your week in Richmond unfolded
Run the seven days, then write to us: the moment that was hardest, the sentence you used instead, and what had changed by Friday. We will publish the strongest accounts, with your name or without it, as the first entries in a new series of reader stories about what really happens at work in the Richmond area.
Your sent folder is the first thing you'll want to check. Sorry about that.