I work in an office with a mix of ages, and at 49, I’m one of the older ones. There’s a younger colleague—24, bright, kind—who used to greet me warmly each morning, always by name. Sometimes we’d walk to the train station together, just light conversation, nothing deep. I took it as friendliness, but somewhere along the way, I misread it. I thought maybe she was interested. So I suggested we take lunchtime walks. As soon as I said it, I saw her shift—literally. She stood up from the bench and walked away. That moment still plays in my head.
Since then, she’s been distant. No more morning greetings, no shared walks. I know I made her uncomfortable, and I hate that. She wasn’t flirting—she was being respectful, maybe even seeing me as safe because of the age gap. And I ruined that. I wasn’t trying to be inappropriate, but I crossed a line I didn’t realize was there. I’ve spent days replaying it, wishing I could take it back. I miss the ease of our conversations, the simple kindness she offered without expectation.
It’s hard to admit when you’ve misjudged something. I thought I was reading a signal, but I was projecting. She’s a great person, and I genuinely enjoyed talking with her. Now I just hope we can go back to being workmates without the awkwardness. I don’t want anything from her—I just want to restore the respect and comfort that used to exist. I know that might not be possible, but I’d like to try. Even silence feels better than tension.
I’ve learned something from this, though. About boundaries, assumptions, and how easy it is to make someone feel unsafe without meaning to. I never saw myself as a threat, but that’s not my call to make. Intent doesn’t erase impact. And now I carry that with me—not as shame, but as a lesson. I want to be better. More aware. More careful. Because kindness should never be met with discomfort, and I never want to be the reason someone pulls away again.
I haven’t spoken to her since. I’m giving her space, hoping time will soften the awkwardness. I’ve apologized silently, but maybe one day I’ll get the chance to say it out loud. Not to fix things, but to acknowledge them. To own my mistake. Until then, I’ll keep my head down, do my job, and try to be the kind of colleague who doesn’t make anyone feel uneasy. It’s a quiet redemption, but it matters.
So yeah, I screwed up. Not in a dramatic way, but in a human one. And I’m sitting with that. Not asking for forgiveness, just hoping for neutrality. Maybe even a nod in the hallway someday. That would be enough. Because sometimes, the best thing you can do after a misstep is to step back—and let respect rebuild itself, one quiet moment at a time.
