How the word “NO” made me a writer
Advisory 1: These thoughts are based on my own experiences; I am not a mental health professional. But if any of this sounds familiar, I encourage you to get professional help.
Advisory 2: This is a long story.
I’m a recovering people pleaser.
For those who don’t speak therapy, that means that I put others’ needs before my own, had a hard time saying no, and felt guilty when I did. I was overcommitted, but not to things I actually wanted to do.
I was miserable. And I came to resent the people around me.
Still, it took therapy to help me see this, and then, to make changes.
#
People pleasers are the way we are because long ago, often as children, we learned that our value (to others) came from being “good,” from not making trouble, and from helping whenever possible. It got us attention and recognition and love. Our self-worth came to depend on others being happy with us, and the way to make others happy with us was to smile, say yes, and never complain.
But what happens after decades of living this way, every day?
Negative returns.
I felt like a doormat. I WAS a doormat. I had trained people—friends, coworkers—how to treat me. Of course everyone asked me to do favors for them—I always said yes! And it’s important to note here, because friends might be reading this: they didn’t mean me harm. What’s a favor request here and there? To them, no big deal. But when ten of your friends are asking, it becomes a really big deal. It ruins your fucking life.
I’m not being dramatic.
I was ruining.
My own.
Life.
#
I don’t have my doctor’s permission to mention her name, so I’m going to call her Dr. Smith.
Dr. Smith asked me how saying yes to every request made me feel.
My answer? Used.
I resented my friends and coworkers. I resented the constant asks, even the invitations. I had very little time to myself, or to do the things I really wanted to do—hang out with my husband. Garden. Write.
“So why do you keep saying yes?” Dr. Smith asked.
“Because I feel bad saying no. Because I don’t really have anything else I have to do. Because he/she/they need me. Because he/she/they have no one else to ask. Because it’s only an hour/two hours/a day/the weekend…”
“But is there something you’d rather be doing?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Then say no.”
Easier said than done. But I worked at it. We role played. At first, I said no with excuses or hedged my responses. Dr. Smith said no excuses—I needed to learn to say “No” or “No thanks” without feeling like I had to justify my response.
She taught me to give myself permission to have my own priorities. That not just my needs, but my wants, were more important than doing whatever other people were trying to get me to do. That the life choices they wanted my help with were not my life choices.
I worried people would like me less if I said no. I worried they would be mad.
“So?” Dr. Smith said.
Because, she explained, if they liked me less for having my own life, they weren’t my real friends to begin with. Also, if they were disappointed when I said no to favors and invitations, that was—and this blew my mind—okay.
I’ll say that again, for you and for me: It’s okay if people are disappointed.
And what she said next changed my life. It was like a thousand pounds fell off my shoulders:
“Your friends are allowed to have their own feelings,” Dr. Smith said. “But it’s not your job to manage those feelings for them.”
I cried then, mostly with relief, and with a little bit of sorrow for myself, too: at all the years I spent carrying what I didn’t have to.
#
Now, a little warning: If you have never had boundaries, and you start establishing them, there will be pushback. Some folks will be not just disappointed, but mad. Why are you saying no to everything all the sudden? Why don’t you want to do this or that favor, or go on this or that social outing? Why are you “ditching” them to just stay home? Ugh.
But, keep to your course. Do not give in to this pressure. Doing so will put you right back where you started.
(Oh! Know what I found out? Yes, I’m an introvert—which means while I like people, and can have fun out and about with others, it exhausts me—but I’m not antisocial. I socialize plenty. But these days, a lot of that socialization is online, through chatting with my writer friends in message threads or on group pages, or attending virtual workshops and classes with other writers, or exchanging feedback. These interactions give me energy rather than taking it away.)
#
Saying no became easier and easier, and my life got better and better.
With encouragement from my husband (“Why not? Do it. Go.”) I applied for membership into the HWA in March of 2022 and got in, then went to my first StokerCon two months later, where I met a ton of fabulous people (who accepted me wholesale) and found so much inspiration.
So. Much. Inspiration.
So much that, on the plane ride home, at about midnight, realization hit me like a blessed punch to the face: If I was going to be a writer, I needed to prioritize that; to prioritize writing, I needed to quit my (stressful) part-time editing job.
This was a little scary, but I knew it was the right decision. I’d worked two or more consecutive jobs since I was a young adult, and money would now be tighter. (I grew up in a household that struggled with financial security, but that, and “class jumping,” is another topic.) It took me a few months to extract myself for a number of reasons, but in August of 2022, I was free.
And I threw myself into my craft. I took online classes, independent studies, and virtual workshops. I wrote and wrote and wrote (and revised and revised and revised).
It’s now July of 2023, and here’s what I have to show for it (since March ’22):
-Eighteen stories accepted and published/to be published in magazines, journals, anthologies, and read on podcasts
-Four Poems published in magazines, journals, and anthologies
-Two nonfiction pieces accepted; one published on a website and one read on a podcast
-A poem nominated for a Pushcart Prize (“Still Love,” by Nocturne Magazine)
-A win for Story of the Week (“Emissaries,” 50-Word Stories)
-A story chosen for a “Best of” anthology (“Falling to Pieces,” Defunkt Magazine; We’re Here: The Best Queer Speculative Lit 2022, Neon Hemlock Press)
-A collection of poetry (In Memory of Exoskeletons) accepted and published by Alien Buddha Press (My first book!)
-A second hybrid collection (Self-Made Monsters, fiction and poetry) accepted for publication by ABP in fall of 2024
-Plans for a co-edited anthology in the early stages (more news on this when I have it!)
-A novel more than halfway written (the first of a planned trilogy)
-A genre-blending, trope-celebrating novella manuscript written that’s now out on submission (Forgive Us Our Trespasses)
-Another novella halfway written (I’ll get back to it after I sell my other one)
-Two writers’ trips taken
-Two StokerCons attended
-Tickets bought for VoidCon and AuthorCon
-& more in the works!
#
None of these things would have happened if I hadn’t (with Dr. Smith’s help) taken a hard look at my life, realized what I was doing to actively harm myself (and what I was doing to allow others to harm me), taken responsibility, and decided to make changes—even when that was hard.
The best part of my recovery is that my self-esteem is now high and real. It doesn’t depend on anyone else’s valuation of me. I’m actually proud of myself for my own accomplishments (and my failures, too). I’m more resilient, I catastrophize less, and when bad stuff does happen, I can put it in perspective.
So much power in such a little word.
