The Power of No

NO is one of the first words we learn.  It carves out our personal boundaries and proclaims that what we want is not necessarily in harmony with the desires of other beings in our universe.  NO has the power to unleash a wide variety of emotions: resentment, rage, disappointment, disapproval, or relief.

Will you help me with this?

Can we go to the party?

Do you love me?

Do I have cancer?

Will you lend me some money just one more time?

As we mature socially, we often find it useful to wrap our more offensive refusals in a little fuzzy padding. 

I’m already double-booked that day.

I have a headache.

I would love to, but my husband/wife/mother/boss would not approve.

I don’t know – let me think about it.

Under pressure, we often say yes when we really want to say no. Some can happily say “No problem!” and forget all about it five minutes later.  Others doggedly follow through, struggling to hide any fermenting resentment, guilt or self-pity. We are often tempted to use a creative excuse to free us from the burden of a commitment. Many have mastered the art of sending double messages that manipulate others into withdrawing their request. The dance of yes and no can easily become complicated and painful. Let your yes be yes and your no be no is good advice, but not easy to follow.

If we make a habit of denying what we really want, our bodies may let us know that all is not well.  Then we suffer the double burden of being sick and feeling guilty for being sick.

I don’t remember my terrible twos, or how I came to the conclusion that saying no was dangerous. I remember feeling frozen in compliance, like a deer in the headlights.  When I was ten or so, I started saying no more often, but I wasn’t able to make it stick. I could not bear the thought that I was disappointing someone else.  Today, I pretend to believe that other people’s emotions are their responsibility, not mine, but I still feel very uncomfortable with the thought that my choices are inflicting unhappiness on others. 

I have come to realize that no matter what I do, I will not please everyone.  That should be liberating – if I can please only one person, it might as well be me.  But I continue to be haunted by the idea that it is my job to keep everybody happy.  The fear of not being able to say no is a strong component of my social anxiety.

When I was a teen-ager, certain things were a no-brainer for me.  I wouldn’t let other people copy my homework (although I would invest a lot of time in coaching them so they could do it themselves).  I wouldn’t lie to my parents about where I was and what I was doing (really!).  My rural lifestyle with no personal transportation protected me from having to face a lot of the traditional teen-age temptations, but when they came, I generally upheld my personal code of ethics.  That caused me considerable distress, because I wanted desperately to belong.  I was very invested in pleasing people, and felt sub-human when I didn’t.

My most painful test came near the end of grade twelve.  I was feeling like less of an outsider that year, a member of my class.  I even had fun occasionally.  Towards the end of the year, someone decided to throw an overnight class party at their parents’ cottage.  Wonder of wonders, I was invited.  When I found out that there would be no chaperones, I said I could not go. The boy I happened to have a crush on asked, “What’s the matter?  Aren’t we good enough for you?”  Over half a century has passed since then, but I still remember the boy’s name and how I devastated I felt.

My mother was very sympathetic.  “Can’t you tell them that I won’t let you go?” she asked. 

“But you would let me go!” I wailed. 

“Of course,” she said.  “I trust you.”    

I stayed home. Maybe it was her trust.  Maybe it was self-preservation. Despite my sheltered existence, I knew enough about real life to be sure that there would be alcohol and sex.  I wasn’t particularly well-versed in human sexuality, but I knew that sex caused pregnancy and pregnancy caused interruption to the educational process, often permanently.  And I was going to university because that was my mother’s dream, one I was determined to carry out at any cost.  It never occurred to me to say no to that, although I would dearly have liked to take a year or two off after high school and experience the independence of gainful employment.

The hardest no I ever said came in my third year of teaching, after my car collided with a van in a white-out.  I spent three weeks in the hospital and came home with two plaster casts, no right kneecap, and a missing front tooth.  My father told me, with great authority, that I would no longer be doing any winter driving.  It wasn’t a power play; he just wanted me to be safe.  It would have been so easy to say yes and avoid all the challenges involved in getting behind a steering wheel again.

I took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry – that isn’t your decision to make.”  In that moment, I realized that I was a grown-up and accountable for my own choices.  If I let other people pressure me, I would be stuck with the consequences. I went on to survive two more traffic accidents.  Every time I take my vehicle on the road, I pray fervently that there will not be another one.  But I am still driving.

In the early Eighties, I endured another memorable NO.  My husband had finally realized his dream of becoming an Anglican priest, and we migrated to Turtleford, Saskatchewan, to be part of a shared ministry of a six-point parish.  I was quickly absorbed into a host of church activities.  One of them was religious education in the town of Livelong. Every Friday afternoon during the academic year, a team of dauntless volunteers invaded the classrooms of the local school for an hour.  Once a month, we would herd all the kids to our little Anglican church and have a worship service.  It was challenging, but not without its rewards.  I was inspired to write my first gospel song during that time, because the kids needed something with a beat and a message, and I heard some of them singing it afterwards.  As the end of the school year approached, I realized how overloaded my schedule was.  I wanted to drop church school.  It was only an hour a week, but it was a stressful hour that required a lot of preparation and a commute.

At that time, I was a newcomer to Anglican Renewal West, so I decided to pray about it.  My conversations with God were pretty one-sided in those days – “listen, Lord, for Your servant is speaking”.  I was startled indeed when I heard a friendly, somewhat amused voice in my head saying, “I can make it work either way.”

This message stunned me.  What?  God can make it work without my dedicated participation?  I am not really needed?  I have to make up my own mind instead of carrying on my merry martyrdom?   

I was pretty sure that this was God giving me the freedom I needed, not what my self-importance imagined was expected of me.  Even so, it was hard to say yes to what I wanted to do.  I would disappoint and inconvenience people who were depending on me.  I took comfort in the fact that they would have two months in the summer holidays to recruit someone to take my place.

They refused to hear my no. You’re doing such a great job.  Of course you’ll be back.  Every attempt to voice my decision was met with more praise and optimistic predictions that I would find it impossible to desert the cause.

When school started the following fall, I was faced with many expressions of consternation. 

You weren’t at church school!  What happened?

I am not doing that any more. I told you that last spring.

Of course you are!  We need you. 

Armed with the conviction that God was on my side, I held firm.  It was November before they realized that I was serious and a replacement was found.  From what I heard, she did a good job and all was well.

I am still learning how to say no effectively.  Every time is a mini-crisis for me, tormenting me with guilt and defensiveness.  It is a little easier than it used to be because I understand more clearly just how important it is not to live in Shouldville and be true to myself.  It is impossible to say yes whole-heartedly without the freedom to say no.  A commitment that is made under duress will crumble sooner or later.  It is impossible to love at gunpoint.

Every YES in our lives is supported by a network of NOs.  When we marry, we promise to “forsake all others” and cleave to only one.  When we are confirmed, we make a covenant to renounce the world, the flesh and the devil, and follow only one Lord and Master.

Even simple, everyday tasks require us to say no.  When I wake up in the morning, I generally think of fifteen things I could or should be doing that day.  But until I decide on one and let the other fourteen go for the time being, I am paralyzed.  Whatever I invest in will grow in value over time.

Our free will may feel like a burden at times, but it is a sacred responsibility.  When we come to a fork in the road, we have to choose a path, even at the risk of being wrong.  If we don’t, we will never get anywhere.