There are certain habits that we are socialized to think of as “etiquette.” But not everything that seems polite actually is, and some “polite” habits do more harm than good, when it comes to how others perceive us (and how we perceive ourselves). 

This month, on Well Played, Ali Putnam and Julie Helms explore why reflexively apologizing is an engrained habit for so many. And why and how to stop doing it.

Ali:
In last month’s article you shared a story about being stung by a bee on the course and choosing not to make it the headline of the day. For anyone who hasn’t read it yet, it was such a small moment that revealed so much about how you recover and move on. Will you talk about what was happening under the surface for you?

Julie:
I was traveling on business in Pretoria. International business travel presents some physically challenging conditions. Technical business development adds cognitive fatigue on top. Meetings are long, sometimes several hours. You’re not just pitching, you’re demonstrating mathematical proofs, leading value-engineering discussions, and getting into deep technical and law-based Q&A. It’s a tough job. Layer on top of that, the hospitality aspect: you’re accelerating trust and relationships in a week or two business trip. Which means every day there is a customer dinner, golf, hosting, being a guest, possibly even visiting key contacts in their home. The pressure is on to make the most of every visit. You’re very aware that everything you say, every action, is being cataloged as a clue to who you are.  This is true in every relationship, but it’s put under a magnifying glass in international business. 

We were playing nine with colleagues. I was drinking a Coke, and somewhere between shots a bee found its way into the can. When I took a sip I got stung inside my mouth. My face started to swell, it stung, I removed the bee, but couldn’t get the stinger out of my lip. We eventually got it out. I’m not allergic, so other than embarrassment and a little pain, I was fine. ALL the locals knew not to leave sugary drinks unattended in the cart for exactly this reason. I had a choice. I could make it a whole production, apologize for the drama, process my embarrassment out loud, laugh at myself, keep talking about it until I felt “over it.” Or I could simply move on. 

Ali:
Most of us, in that moment, would feel pressure to manage everyone else’s reaction. To reassure, to explain, to keep circling back. Make it into a joke, or an apology.

Julie:
Apologizing is an engrained habit for many women. It is rarely about a true mistake; it’s about trying to manage how everyone feels about you. “I’m sorry” becomes a tiny shield, if I lower myself first, no one else can. So you start apologizing for taking up space. “I’m sorry if this has already been covered, but what if we…” or “I’m sorry to keep pushing this, but can we briefly revisit…” From an etiquette standpoint, it’s unnecessary. From a psychology standpoint it changes the energy of the interaction. Instead of letting the moment pass, you create a new one where people feel like they have to reassure you or fix something that was never really a problem.

Ali:
I see that on the golf course too. A woman hits a perfectly decent shot, maybe she leaves an approach a little short or tops a drive, but the ball is in play, and she still rushes to, “Sorry, that was terrible.” Or she takes an extra second to settle over a putt and apologizes for “taking too long,” even though she’s completely within pace of play. Meanwhile, no one else is apologizing. And in a foursome where you’re the only woman, that contrast becomes even more noticeable.

Julie:
That’s a perfect example. It draws attention to you in a way that feels self-conscious instead of confident. Etiquette is meant to keep the focus on the moment and on the people you’re with, not on your internal stress. Over-apologizing comes from a desire to stay likable. But in doing that, you diminish your authority. You’re telling everyone around you, “don’t worry, I already know I’m the problem.” 

Ali:
Which is the opposite of what you want in golf, especially business golf. You don’t need to be the best player in the group. But you do need to carry yourself like you belong there. That doesn’t mean pretending you’re thrilled with every shot. It’s the discipline of restraint. Letting your presence speak without constantly qualifying it.

Julie:
Not every moment needs commentary. If you hit a bad shot, you don’t need to apologize. You don’t even need to explain it. You can put the club back in the bag, take a breath, and walk to the next one. That steadiness is something others unconsciously clock.

Ali:
Some of the most respected players I’ve been around say very little after a bad swing. Maybe a quick, “We’ll make something of it.” They adjust, they reset, and they keep going. That behavior is the result of experience which translates to confidence. And, it makes other people more comfortable, because no one feels like they need to manage your emotions. For women in male-dominated spaces, that composure carries even more weight. You’re often being observed more closely, whether anyone admits it or not.

Julie:
People feel safe around someone who doesn’t overreact to small things. So the question becomes, what do you do instead of apologizing?  A simple shift is replacing apologies with neutrality. You feel the urge to say, “Sorry, that was awful,” and instead you let the moment pass. That tiny pause is a psychological skill. You’re proving to yourself that you can feel a little uncomfortable without rushing to smooth it. 

Ali:
This applies beyond golf, but golf just makes it very visible because of the pace. There is space for behavior to be noticed. And once you see over-apologizing for what it is, you can’t unsee it, in yourself or anyone else.

Julie:
Ultimately, this is about allowing yourself to take up space without constantly softening it, and trusting that one imperfect shot, or one imperfect moment, doesn’t require an explanation.

Ali:
And trusting that you don’t need to apologize for being there in the first place.