The Yes That Should Have Been a No

Recovery begins with one complete sentence.
No.

Not “maybe later.”
Not “if you’re sure.”
Not “okay, but I’ll resent you for it.”

Just… no.

It’s astonishing how complicated that tiny word can feel, especially for women taught to be agreeable, accommodating, and available at all costs. We’re praised for saying yes. We’re shamed for saying no. And somewhere along the way, we forget that our no is not a rejection of others, it’s a recognition of ourselves.

But when you’ve been hurt, betrayed, dismissed, or emotionally worn thin, your yeses start to pile up like quiet betrayals. You hear yourself agreeing to things you don’t want, staying longer than you should, making space for people who never offer the same in return.

You say yes to avoid the guilt.
You say yes to keep the peace.
You say yes because it feels safer than the fallout of a no.

Until one day, you realize the cost.

That yes?
It was a “no” to your body.
A “no” to your boundaries.
A “no” to your nervous system screaming for space.

You didn’t just agree to something, you abandoned yourself in the process.

This is where the healing begins.

Not with grand declarations or flawless boundaries.
But with one quiet, steady shift in your nervous system:
“I don’t have to say yes just because I always have.”

But let’s also be honest: your first few no’s will feel awful.
Not because you’ve done something wrong, but because you’re doing something you’ve never done before.
That racing heart, the guilt, the tightness in your chest? It’s not danger. It’s unfamiliarity. Your body is used to self-abandonment being the safest route. Now, it’s relearning safety in your own voice.

This discomfort doesn’t mean you’re failing.
It means you’re growing.

Learning to say no, especially after years of over-functioning or people-pleasing, isn’t selfish. It’s sacred. It’s the restoration of your inner compass.

Some won’t like your no.
Some may try to guilt you back into old patterns.
But the ones who truly see you?
They’ll adjust. Or they’ll leave. And either way, you’ll be okay.

Because from now on, every yes will mean something.
And every no will be a return to yourself.

How Could I Possibly Know About This?

I was the textbook people pleaser.
I wanted to be liked, needed, accepted, even if it came at the expense of my own health.
Mentally. Physically. Emotionally.
I ignored the screaming in my body because I didn’t trust it. I truly believed my body was wrong. That I was too sensitive. Too reactive. Too much.

Everything shifted when I realized that the noise inside me wasn’t dysfunction, it was my truth being silenced.

I had to relearn how to trust myself, not just in the quiet moments, but in the moments of pushback, conflict, and guilt. And that meant saying “no” — even when everything in me braced for the fallout.

You Might Lose People, Sorry, You WILL Lose People.

Saying no changes things.
Not everyone will celebrate your boundaries.
Some people will leave. Some will lash out. Some will guilt you into thinking you’ve become selfish.

I won’t sugarcoat it, I lost people.
People I loved.
People I thought I needed.

And I had to grieve those losses like real deaths.
I had to sit with the ache of abandonment and remind myself:
I didn’t cause this by being honest.
I revealed what was already there by finally telling the truth.

Even now, those old abandonment wounds still whisper to me sometimes.
They remind me that parts of me are still tender, still learning.
But I don’t need to be perfectly healed to be worthy. I just need to keep showing up for myself.

Growth doesn’t mean you never feel fear again.
It means you stop letting fear decide what you’re allowed to say yes or no to.

You don’t have to do this part alone.

If you’re standing on the edge of your first “no,” shaking with uncertainty, I want you to know something:
You don’t have to figure this out alone.

This is the work I do, sitting with women who are unlearning self-betrayal and relearning self-trust.
I won’t people-please you (I have already done enough for the both of us).
I won’t tell you what you want to hear just to make it easier.
But I will listen. I will honor your truth.
And I’ll be the voice of reason when your fear tries to talk you out of what you know is right.

We don’t need perfect boundaries to begin.
We just need one small, honest step.

Let that first step be the word you were never allowed to say:

No.

You deserve to come home to yourself.
Jennifer

🌊 www.caughtinawave.ca