Hey friends, it’s Tina.

Pull up a chair, grab a coffee (or something stronger, I don’t judge), and let’s have a real-talk session. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about this weird performance art we all participate in called “Being an Adult.”

We do the things, right? We pay the taxes, we remember which day is cardboard recycling, we buy organic spinach only to let it turn into green slime in the crisper drawer—classic adult stuff. We walk around with our structured blazers and our Google Calendars, looking like we’ve totally cracked the code.

But I’ve noticed a glitch in the simulation. I’ve realized that for most of us, everybody is grown until it’s time to communicate and apologize.

You know the vibe. You’re upset with someone—maybe a partner, a friend, or that coworker who always hits “reply all.” They ask if something is wrong, and suddenly, your brain regresses to a four-year-old hiding behind a curtain.

Instead of saying, “Hey, it hurt my feelings when you didn’t acknowledge my input,” we opt for the Olympic-level sport of The Passive-Aggressive Sigh. We slam a cupboard door just a little too hard or send a text that ends with a period—the universal digital sign for “I am currently imagining your demise.”

We’re “grown,” but when it comes to saying “I’m hurt,” we suddenly lose the ability to form sentences. It’s easier to be “fine” than it is to be vulnerable. Because being vulnerable is messy, and adults aren’t supposed to be messy, right? (Spoiler: We are all a disaster.)

Then, there’s the apology. Or, as I like to call it, The Great Deflection. Have you ever received one of those “non-apology” apologies?

• “I’m sorry you felt that way.” * “I’m sorry, but you started it.” * “I’m sorry if you took it the wrong way.” That’s not an apology; that’s a linguistic Houdini act. It’s essentially saying, “I’m sorry your brain reacted incorrectly to my perfect behavior.”

Why is it so hard for us to just say: “I messed up. I was selfish/rude/distracted, and I see how that affected you. I’m sorry”?

I’ll tell you why: because “grown-ups” have egos. And egos are like those giant inflatable tube men outside car dealerships—loud, taking up too much space, and incredibly fragile. Admitting we’re wrong feels like we’re losing a game we didn’t even sign up to play.

I think we’re all just terrified that if we admit we aren’t perfect, the “Adult Police” will come and take away our “I Can Buy My Own Birthday Cake” privileges. We equate maturity with being right.

But here’s the truth I’m learning (the hard way, usually while crying in my car): Real maturity isn’t about never making a mistake; it’s about what you do after you’ve tripped over your own feet.

It’s about:

• The Uncomfortable Conversation: Sitting down and saying, “This is awkward to bring up, but…”

• Owning the Cringe: Admitting you acted out of insecurity instead of pretending you were “just being logical.”

• The “No-But” Apology: Saying sorry without adding a disclaimer at the end.

So, here’s my challenge to you (and mostly to myself, because I currently have an unread text I’m avoiding). The next time you feel that “grown-up” urge to shut down, go silent, or deflect blame—don’t.

Try being a little less “mature” and a little more human. Cry if you need to. Stutter through the apology. Admit you don’t have it all figured out. I promise the world won’t end, and honestly? You’ll probably sleep a lot better.

Being an adult is overrated. Being a person who can actually say “I’m sorry” and “Here’s how I feel”? That’s the real flex.

What’s the hardest apology you’ve ever had to give (or never got)? Let’s vent in the comments—I’ve got the virtual tissues ready.