You’ve probably said it. Or at least thought it while staring at a mounting pile of evidence that you, in fact, messed up. It is the ultimate linguistic escape hatch. Mistakes were made but not by me isn't just a clever turn of phrase; it’s the title of a seminal book by social psychologists Carol Tavris and Elliot Aronson that explains the mental gymnastics we perform to stay the hero of our own story.
Self-justification is a hell of a drug. It’s more dangerous than a flat-out lie. When you lie, you know you’re doing it. But when you use self-justification to bridge the gap between "I am a good person" and "I just did something terrible," you actually start to believe your own nonsense. That’s the scary part. We aren't just fooling others; we are fooling ourselves.
The Science of the "Blind Spot"
Most of us think we see the world objectively. We don't. Our brains are hardwired for cognitive dissonance—that uncomfortable tension we feel when we hold two conflicting ideas. If I think I'm a smart person but I just lost $5,000 on a crypto scam, my brain has to do some serious work to keep those two ideas in the same room. Usually, the brain decides the "scam" was actually a "learning experience" or "unforeseeable market volatility."
Basically, we have a blind spot for our own biases. We can see everyone else's flaws with 20/20 vision, but our own are blurred by a thick layer of "but you don't understand the context."
Tavris and Aronson argue that this isn't just about being stubborn. It’s about survival. Our sense of self is fragile. If we admitted every mistake we ever made, we’d be crushed by the weight of our own fallibility. So, the brain protects us. It creates a "pyramid of choice." Imagine two people standing at the top of a pyramid, both undecided about a moral issue—say, whether it's okay to cheat a little on their taxes. One decides to do it; the other doesn't. By the time they slide down to the bottom of that pyramid, they are miles apart. The cheater thinks tax laws are a scam for the elite; the honest person thinks tax evaders should be in jail. They both started in the same place, but their need to justify their initial choice pushed them to extreme, opposing poles.
The Passive Voice of Power
Politicians love the phrase "mistakes were made." It’s the king of the non-apology. It uses the passive voice to acknowledge an error exists without actually attaching a human being to the action. It’s like saying "the glass broke" instead of "I dropped the glass."
Henry Kissinger used it. Ronald Reagan used it regarding the Iran-Contra affair. Bill Clinton used it. Even more recently, corporate CEOs use it during congressional hearings to distance themselves from systemic failures. It’s a way of signaling "moving on" without doing the hard work of accountability.
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But it isn't just for the powerful. You see it in marriages. You see it in friendships. "I'm sorry you feel that way" is the close cousin of mistakes were made but not by me. It shifts the burden of the error onto the other person’s reaction rather than the original action.
Why our memories are basically fiction
Here is a weird truth: your memory is not a video recorder. It’s a storyteller. Every time you recall a memory, you’re actually re-writing it. And because we have a biological need to feel like "good people," we subtly edit our memories to make ourselves look better. We sharpen the details of how we were wronged and soften the details of how we wronged others.
In Mistakes Were Made (But Not by Me), the authors point out that even "memory experts" fall for this. We create "source confusion." We hear a story and eventually think it happened to us. Or we take a fragment of a real event and build an entire narrative around it that justifies our current anger or resentment.
Memory is the ultimate tool of self-justification. It provides the "evidence" we need to prove we were right all along.
The High Cost of Staying Right
If you can never be wrong, you can never learn. It’s that simple.
The most successful people in any field—whether it’s science, business, or sports—are the ones who have a high tolerance for being wrong. They see a mistake as data. But for most of us, a mistake feels like an attack on our identity.
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Look at the criminal justice system. There are documented cases where prosecutors, faced with DNA evidence that proves a person they put in prison is innocent, still insist the person is guilty. Why? Because admitting they stole 20 years from an innocent man is too much for their ego to bear. They have to believe they were right to maintain their sanity. This is "cognitive dissonance" at its most destructive.
It happens in medicine, too. Doctors are human. They make mistakes. But the culture of "the infallible physician" often prevents them from admitting those mistakes, which leads to more errors and fewer systemic fixes. When we prioritize being "right" over being "accurate," people get hurt.
Breaking the Cycle
How do you stop? How do you actually admit a mistake when your entire biology is screaming at you to blame someone else?
It starts with noticing the "sting." That sharp, prickly feeling of defensiveness when someone criticizes you? That’s the signal. Instead of immediately launching into a defense, sit with it.
- Acknowledge the Dissonance: Realize that you can be a good person and still do a dumb thing. The two aren't mutually exclusive.
- Watch Your Language: Stop using the passive voice. Instead of "Mistakes were made," try "I made a mistake." It feels heavier, but it's more honest.
- The "Friend Test": If your friend told you they did exactly what you just did, would you judge them as harshly? Probably not. Apply that same nuance to yourself without the self-justification.
- Value Growth Over Ego: Decide that you’d rather be someone who grows than someone who is always "right."
Honesty is uncomfortable. It’s messy. It requires you to look at the versions of yourself you’d rather ignore. But it’s the only way to build real relationships and a real sense of self.
Actionable Steps for Genuine Accountability
If you find yourself stuck in a loop of self-justification, try these specific tactics to break out:
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Conduct a "Pre-Mortem" on your arguments. Before you defend your actions to someone else, write down the three strongest points they have against you. Actually look at them. If they have merit, acknowledge them out loud before you say anything else.
Separate the Action from the Identity. When you mess up, say "I did a bad thing," not "I am a bad person." The first can be fixed. The second feels like a death sentence, which is why your brain fights so hard to deny it.
Find a "Devil’s Advocate" friend. Everyone needs one person who isn't afraid to tell them when they're being a self-justifying jerk. Give them permission to call you out on your "mistakes were made" rhetoric.
Practice the "Hard Apology." A real apology has no "but." It’s "I did X, it caused Y, and I’m sorry." If there is a "but" at the end, you aren't apologizing; you're justifying.
Admitting you were wrong doesn't make you weak. It makes you reliable. It makes you someone people can actually trust, because they know you aren't going to gaslight them the moment things go sideways. It's time to retire the passive voice and take ownership of the mess. It’s the only way to actually clean it up.
Next Steps for Growth
To move past the trap of self-justification, begin by identifying one minor mistake you’ve been blaming on "circumstances" or "someone else" this week. Explicitly state—either to yourself or the person involved—"I handled that poorly, and it was my fault." Notice the immediate physical relief that comes from dropping the defensive shield. From there, audit your apologies for the word "but"; if it appears, restart the apology without it. This builds the psychological muscle needed for larger, more complex accountability in the future.