Why your no isn’t being respected

“I hate having to say no twice. I said no, and I want it respected.”

Nine years ago I facilitated a seminar called Journey to Putting Yourself

First. About a hundred and fifty people came, and at the front of the room I

set out forty or fifty “No” pens. Each pen had a button, and when you

pressed it, fifteen different voices said no, fifteen different ways. I loved

those pens. When the seminar began, I held one up, pressed the button, and

the room laughed. I told them: these pens are here for the taking. If you

want one, now or anytime today, come up and claim one.

And then I watched. I could see the desire in their eyes, and I could see the

hesitancy, because clearly there were not enough pens for everyone. By the

end of the day it was plain as anything: the challenge of claiming a pen

matched the challenge of saying no. Easily, thoroughly, and meaning it.

So many people wanted the no. So few felt they could claim it. Here’s what’s

underneath that.

You know a congruent no when you hear one. Ask a store clerk, “Do you

have any more of these?” and he says, “Sorry, no.” That’s it. They’re sold

out, and nothing in his voice invites you to keep asking. But if he says, “Well,

no, I don’t think so, I don’t think I saw any more on the shelf...” you’ll ask

him to check, won’t you? His tone, his body, his uncertainty made an almost-

no, a maybe-no. And a maybe-no invites the push.

So here’s what’s really happening. You say no with your mouth. But maybe

you’re not emotionally congruent with it. There’s a fear of disappointing. A

worry about whether you can hold the no. A concern about what they’ll

think, how they’ll feel, because you said it. And the no isn’t backed by your

actions. Which means the truth is: you’re not actually saying no.

And that’s the good news. Imagine if you were really saying no and nobody

listened. That would be awful. But that’s not what’s happening. What’s

happening is the no isn’t whole yet.

Because yes and no are one pencil. One end writes, the other erases. They’re

not in opposition; they work together. You can’t say no unless you can say yes,

and you can’t say yes unless you can say no. If you can’t say

yes to the life you want, to self-respect, to caring for yourself, to the bubble

bath, to receiving the love you want, then you can’t really say no, because

you’re not clear on what your no is supporting.

And here’s the part almost nobody tells you: your no isn’t just good for you.

It’s good for the person you’re saying it to. It hands them the chance to be

capable, to be self-sufficient, to manage their own feelings and their own

life. It takes you out of the center of their internal world, where, truthfully,

you never were. You hand them back their life. And in doing so, you hand

yourself back your own.

No is a complete sentence. No is a doorway: all the scattered, unrealized,

half-denied pieces fold in on themselves, and what’s left is that bright,

shining yes. Yes to your best life. Yes to You. Yes to that level of honesty. Yes

to a real change that benefits everyone around you. Yes to better sleep,

better breathing, better eating, better thinking, a better way. The no’s will

work themselves out.

And one more thing. The moment you respect your own no, aligned in mind,

heart, and action, it stops mattering so much whether they respect it.

Because you do.

Try this: sing your no.

Singing is physiology, not performance. It drives your breath deep, works

your diaphragm, and lines up your posture so the sound can get out. A sung

no is practice: your whole body saying no at once. Up the octaves: no, no, no,

no, no, no, noooooo. A little higher. One more time, higher still.

Now take a bow. (Really do it.)

And then do what that room did nine years ago. Put on Pete Townshend’s

Let My Love Open the Door [Spotify · Apple Music] and dance. That day,

people left with a pen in their hand or a no they newly owned. Leave this

letter with yours.

This letter went out by email first. Want the next one in your inbox? The free guide at wendyfalcon.com is the door.

Wendy