Once upon a time it was not okay to say, “No, thank you.” Somewhere along the journey of life, my no was swallowed up by duty and obedience.I wonder if learning to say “No, thank you” to little things when I was young would have helped me to say “Hell, No!” to bigger things as I grew.
Checking over schoolwork in my classroom the other day, I came across a “thinking” question that was to be answered subjectively by a student. It was a “What would you do if?” question, designed to help a fourth grader think through a situation and make a wise choice.
The answer to an obvious moral dilemma written by one girl began, “I would say, No, thank you. Let’s. . .” She finished the scenario with a different choice that did not involve lying, cheating, stealing, or whatever negative behavior was being pressured.
I paused, reflecting on her words for a moment, remembering the girl inside of me who spent a lot of time in turmoil due to her inability to say, “No, thank you. Let’s. . .” From an early age, I do not remember being allowed to say no to basic things that I did not want to do.
I am not talking about issues of health or safety or running out into the road, but of what to wear or what to eat or what to do or not do with myself. I did not feel I had choices. Expressions of fear or insecurity were not acceptable. If I did manage a “No, thank you” I felt isolated and alone; rejected, rather than supported and encouraged for using my voice to speak my needs.
Often, my body said “No, thank you” for me. I would get sick to my stomach when I dared not say that I could not, or did not, want to do something. That was an acceptable no, because I had no control over it. Who can argue with nausea and fatigue and total body shut down?
This inability to say “No, thank you” conditioned me to not know when to say, “Yes, please.”
I find myself saying, “I can’t even imagine,” a lot these days. It is usually within the context of hearing or reading about someone else choosing something good or kind or fun for themselves as I flip over my day’s duty card. How can they even? I can’t even imagine!
I am growing curious about why I cannot imagine making choices that are good and kind for my heart and my life.
Why can I not even imagine? I wonder if it is, in part, due to my lost no. It takes a lot of energy to spend time figuring out how to avoid what one does not want to do, and make it appear that it is, in fact, perfectly fine to be living out of default mode.
I am on my way to reimagining.
I am learning to readjust my settings, taking them off of default. It takes work. A lot of work. It takes sacrifice and risk and brutal honesty to admit that I do not know how to adjust the settings of my life on my own. It takes coming face to face with myself and realizing that the issues do not reside outside of me, but within. My style of relating, how others experience me, these things are difficult, but necessary, to face.
Recently, one of my adult children shared how he experiences me when I engaged him in talking about and processing an upcoming season of international travel he is about to begin. What I thought was giving him freedom to say, “No, thank you” to hard and fast plans and feeling trapped by his choice, he perceived as smothering and stressful. His bottom line was, “Please stop engaging me and my travels this way. I am going to do this, and you are stressing me out whenever you say I don’t have to feel stuck going on this trip. I am going. I want to go. This is how I want to do it. This is my choice.”
This is where redemption lives. It inhabits those small spaces where my child’s, “No, thank you. I have heard enough. Please stop.” intersects with my “I hear you and because I felt I couldn’t say no at your age is why I am hitting this so hard, and I am sorry. Please forgive me.”
It is a painful, humbling, and rewarding journey. Some days I am not sure that I will make it to the next. In those moments, I purpose to tell myself, No, thank you. Let’s keep going.
Julie McClay lives in Virginia’s beautiful Shenandoah Valley with her high school sweetheart (and husband of 24 years) and 5 of their 8 children. She is learning that while it can be painful to face the past honestly while living in the moment and looking towards the future, it can be healing and lead to the hope of a brighter future. She digs through these thoughts and feelings here.
nbsp
nbsp
Loving the naming of the intersection with your son…so good!
Thank you. This is such a new area of growth for me, especially with that particular son. From day one he broke, and continues to break, the mold of motherhood for me. What hasn’t always felt like a gift is turning out to be a huge one, and I am so grateful.
Julie…such honesty and integrity you offer your children and your readers. You are a beautiful soul Julie. I love your curiosity and the kindness it offers your soul. Thank you for this.
Thank you for naming that I am trying to engage my world with honesty and integrity, because that is my deep desire. Your invitation to curiosity and model of kindness has been a gift to my soul as has been this space to write and share my words. I continue to marvel at God’s faithfulness and grace.
Julie, I am sad your only way to say no thank you was getting a stomach ache. What is so cool about you is that you raised your children with freedom to say no thank you. How did that happen? How did you have a heart so large that allowed goodness and love from your children? I am curious of so much of the journey that you have made in doing things differently. Your love is extravagant. Thank you for remembering the little girl who could not say “no thank you” because I was that little girl too and I had forgotten much of the journey until you told years. Your words help heal others. Thank you.
Thank you for seeing the struggle of a young girl with no words for no and for feeling the sadness of that very stuck and scary place with her. How did raising my children with freedom happen? I don’t know other than God’s wild, messy grace, and we are still in the thick of discovering that. I am confident that my children, all EIGHT of them, have been a means of grace used to enlarge my heart and guide me on my own redemptive journey. You name my love as extravagant which brings tears and is hard to hear. I am choosing to hold that word close as I ponder what it stirs. I feel that love is a struggle for me. Blessings to you and the little girl inside as you remember your story together and continue to heal. You have blessed me with eyes that see and words that bring life.
Yes! Growing up in a house without choices, I say this is spot on! Love the curiosity you bring. And having adult kids who travel, your end point made me wonder. Plenty of middle schoolers coming up the road to re practice on!