I Tried to Be Chill. It Lasted 12 Minutes.
For about twelve minutes, I was very proud of myself.
I had said no.
A clear no.
A calm no.
A respectful, adult, emotionally evolved no.
No explanations.
No footnotes.
No unnecessary apologies.
Just… no.
And for twelve whole minutes, I felt powerful.
Grounded.
Mature.
Like someone who had finally mastered the art of boundaries.
Then the email arrived.
Or maybe it was the silence.
Or the tone.
Or the imagined tone. Hard to say.
What I do know is that somewhere around minute thirteen, my brain went into full emergency mode.
Was I rude?
Should I follow up?
Should I soften it?
Should I clarify?
Should I send a smiley face?
Should I apologize for existing?
Should I move to another country and start over?
This is what they do not tell you about learning to say no.
It feels good.
And then it feels terrifying.
Because saying no does not magically make life peaceful.
It makes life honest.
It changes patterns.
It disrupts expectations.
It rearranges emotional furniture.
And suddenly you are standing there thinking,
Wait.
Was I ready for this part?
At some point in my spiral, I realized something.
This was not just about one decision.
This was about how I was raised.
I grew up with two mantras.
My mother’s was: Be nice.
She was Southern and Catholic. Enough said.
My grandmother’s was: Be happy.
She was Sicilian and Catholic. Also enough said.
Be nice.
Be happy.
Which sounds lovely.
Until you realize what it can mean.
Don’t disappoint.
Don’t upset anyone.
Don’t be difficult.
Don’t take up too much space.
Smile.
Adjust.
Accommodate.
Carry it quietly.
So of course saying no rattles me.
It goes against decades of muscle memory.
And yet.
Every time I get on a plane, a stranger in a uniform looks me in the eye and says:
Put your own oxygen mask on first.
Before your child.
Before your partner.
Before anyone.
Every time.
They do not add:
Unless you are Southern.
Unless you are Catholic.
Unless you were raised to be nice.
They just say: first.
Meanwhile, I am usually half-listening.
Because I am trying to figure out where to put my elbows.
Especially if I am in the middle seat.
Between two men.
Who have apparently decided their arms deserve federal land grants.
So I fold myself into a polite little shape, nodding along.
Yes, yes. Mask first.
While doing the exact opposite.
Because in my head, the order has always been:
Everyone else.
Everyone else.
Everyone else.
Me. Maybe.
Then probably everyone else again.
Saying no is just another version of putting on the mask.
It is not selfish.
It is preparation.
It lets me breathe.
It lets me stay present instead of resentful.
It lets me show up without disappearing.
And I am learning that staying with myself, even when it feels awkward, is part of Returning.
Not abandoning my roots.
Not rejecting “be nice” or “be happy.”
But expanding them.
Being kind without erasing myself.
Seeking joy without pretending.
Offering love without exhaustion.
So yes.
I said no.
And I felt strong.
And then I felt shaky.
And then I stayed.
Which, it turns out, is the work.
If you are learning to set boundaries and feeling wobbly afterward, you are not failing.
You are learning a new language.
It feels strange in your mouth at first.
But it is yours.
And you are allowed to speak it.
You are welcome here.
Exactly as you are.
Exactly where you are.
Inhale. Inward. Onward. Go.
Exhale. Onward. Upward. Go.
With you on the path,
Bonnie
If this reflection stayed with you, here are a few gentle ways to continue the journey:
You are welcome exactly where you are.
