One of the hardest things my twenties taught me is that I’m not always right. It seems like a pretty simple lesson, doesn’t it? Glaringly obvious, even. But you’d be surprised how much we lie to ourselves to protect our own egos—and how much damage it causes down the line.

I was an A+ student, raised by a pair of perfectionists who were praised for the way they raised me and my sister. We were the perfect children, living in the perfect house on a perfectly quiet street in a perfectly manicured neighbourhood. Perfect, perfect, perfect. And that apparent perfection? I carried it around like a shield, with no one allowed to see the cracks—not even me.

Then came university, and I got 40% on a writing assignment—my first ever bad grade. It absolutely destroyed me. I was certain there’d been a mistake. Even when my lecturer explained what I’d done wrong, I couldn’t understand what he was asking us to do. I was furious and resented him until graduation. I made every excuse under the sun: he’s a racist, a misogynist, an idiot.

Graduation brought my first Big Fight with my high school best friend. I couldn’t handle the idea that I’d hurt someone, even accidentally, so I shut her out. She erased me, and I erased her. That was the first time my ego caused permanent damage, and it hurt. My perfect shield had cracked.

Over and over, the pattern repeated, chipping away at my shell—first with my parents, then with employers, and even with myself. There was no way my eating habits, hatred of exercise, or my refusal to take off my makeup before bed could be the reason I couldn’t fit into my jeans or was constantly breaking out. It had to be my slow metabolism, my hormones, of course.

One day, I finally realized it wasn’t my shell shattering; it was me: my self-worth, my relationships, my career. Ironically, always needing to be right was putting me in the wrong. And learning to apologize taught me that life isn’t about being perfect—it’s about showing up, taking responsibility, and letting others know they matter. Strangely, as soon as I let go of my need to be perfect, everything changed. My relationships deepened, my work life flourished, and my self-respect grew.

Swallowing my pride tasted better than losing a relationship. I used to hold onto ‘rightness’ as if it were everything, convinced that saying “I’m sorry” meant admitting defeat. But somewhere along the way, I saw that being wrong wasn’t the end of the world; it was a stepping stone to something better.

Putting yourself on a pedestal only leaves you defending yourself over and over. We’re human, and humans make mistakes.

So go ahead and make your mistakes—just make sure you say you’re sorry when they hurt others.