A seven-day experiment, the awkward moments to expect, and the sentence that replaces "sorry"
Open your sent folder and tally how many times you wrote an apology. Skip the ones that matter and look at the reflexive ones: "Sorry for the wait." "Apologies for jumping in." "Sorry, quick thing." For many women running teams across Baltimore, from Towson offices to the Inner Harbor, the tally is shocking, and very few of those apologies were for anything that needed forgiving.
Here is the experiment. Starting Monday, "sorry" is reserved for real harm: you missed a deadline that hurt someone, or you got something wrong that mattered. Everything else gets a replacement. What follows traces the typical arc of this shift over a working week, together with the phrasing that keeps it practical.
Across days 1 and 2, the way you talk starts to catch your ear.
Right away, you see how frequently that little word creeps into your writing. It opens your emails, greets you at the start of meetings, and tags along when you ask something already answered. You will catch roughly half of them in the moment. Noticing it is already a meaningful start.
Swap in "Thanks for your patience" for "Sorry for the delay." Try "Let me add something" for "Sorry, can I just." Use "Here's the update" in place of "Sorry it took so long."
Days 3 and 4, it feels a little raw
Without the cushion, your sentences hit harder than you are used to. A request reads as a request. A correction reads as a correction. Most people quit at this stage, mistaking the awkward feeling for impoliteness. It isn't. It is simply a sentence without an apology in front of it, the same kind your colleagues hear all day from the men down the hall.
If you want a softener, choose one that is real: "I appreciate you turning this around so quickly" is warm and apologizes for nothing. On a sticky note, jot down the three phrases you lean on most, paired with the substitute you plan to use for each. It sounds dull, and it works, because the habit moves faster than your intentions do.
By day 5, Baltimore listeners begin reacting in a different way.
Somewhere around Friday, the replies change. Answers come back faster, and fewer people ask you to re-explain what you already made clear. The shift is subtle, and it is the point: a sentence that opens with an apology invites the listener to grant something. When a message leads with the actual content, it gives the reader a reason to take action. You might also see which colleagues were fond of the old habit. That is useful information too.
The single principle that keeps you warm and personal.
Don't turn cold on people. The goal of the trial is not to strip out kindness. It is about removing the suggestion that you owe people something just for taking up space. Until now, "sorry" has been carrying two separate loads. Hold on to the warmth and let the reflexive apology go.
When an apology is still the fitting response.
When you were wrong and someone in Towson or Essex paid the price for it. Offer it one time, deliver it sincerely, and name the change you intend to make. An apology that appears only occasionally keeps its meaning.
Lay out what took place
Run the week, then write to us: the hardest moment, the sentence you used instead, and what had changed by Friday. With your permission, we will publish the strongest accounts, under your name or without it, as the first entries in a new series of reader stories about what actually happens at work here in Baltimore.
Checking your sent folder will be the very first step you take. Sorry about that.