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no 39

Have you accidentally looked into the sun or bright light and then looked away, and the image burned into your eyelids? That’s an afterimage.

This week, you're getting an inside glimpse into the mind of a recovering people-pleaser. (It's tedious, exhausting, and probably a bit annoying.)

I wondered whether to publish this or how it might be relevant to you. I can't think of any reason for it, apart from the fact that this is Afterimage, where I share what stayed with me from the last we spoke.

Before we start, I'd like to offer a warm welcome and a hearty thanks to the new readers who've joined us over the last month! If anything stands out for you, I hope you'll share it with me. Your thoughts fuel me.

Here's what I saw, heard, or sensed that’s stayed with me the past week. Let’s begin.

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What I Heard: Clarity is Kindness

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The Tenants: Dread, Anxiousness, and Resentment

I’m a recovering people-pleaser. Saying no used to pain me. I used to think saying no was a source of inconvenience. So over the years, I've said yes to more things than I cared for. I sat on so many things I’ve wanted to say no to for longer than was good for me or anyone else.

All the pent-up nos lived in my body: Dread was the heavy ball in the pit of my stomach, and Anxiousness was familiar to me as shallow breaths and tightness in my chest. Resentment seeped out of me, noxious loud sighs escaping my nostrils. They lived rent-free in my body at a considerable cost to me.

That went on for decades. Motherhood provided significant relief with its built-in and often unchallenged opportunities to say no. Over time, saying no just made sense. I felt well in my body. There was a better flow to my day. There was a lot more room for creativity and enjoyment. That made me feel more like me.

Since then, therapy and my coaching training have given me more awareness and tools than I can practice. So imagine my surprise this week when I tentatively accepted a referral for a speaking engagement at a fifth of my usual rate. (Whyyyy?)

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Saying yes seemed like a good idea at the time. (“Think of it as a paid sales call! Do the person who referred me a favor! Money isn’t always the driver.” ) In hindsight, it's faulty thinking. And there was only one real reason I said yes, albeit tentatively: it felt good to avoid saying no. After all, decades of saying yes kept me out of trouble and gave me a (false) sense of safety.

Once I gave the tentative yes, it was on. I felt the truth in my throat, in a big, dry knot. Deep down, I knew there was no real refuge in saying yes to everything. There’s only betrayal.

I went into meetings with the potential client, hoping our values or ways of working would align. It didn’t. Instead, it raised large, red logistical flags.

Thank goodness I’d already started work on this week’s draft of Afterimage. Since I’d given Dread, Anxiousness, and Resentment names, I recognized them right away, sitting with me in the Zoom meeting.

I had two choices: either go with it and create and deliver the talk while Dread, Anxiousness, and Resentment contaminated me. Or speak up. I chose the latter. I decided to evict those tenants.

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How to Say It?

Saying no was often a struggle, but how to say it weighed on me even more. Left to my own devices, I'd overthink it. So I used a coaching tool: keep it simple and speak in the “I”:

“I’m not the right fit for the talk you want to offer your people in Japan. Thank you for considering me.”

A funny thing happened. The client got curious. They asked questions. They apologized. They appreciated the feedback and wanted more. We dove into a deeper dialogue about their needs.

We’re exploring a larger, more in-depth project together. They’re now gathering resources- time and a budget.

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Saying no released the pent-up pressure from Dread, Anxiousness, and Resentment. I felt the change in my body. I’m steady and grounded; my center of gravity is lower. My heart feels expansive, and my shoulders are back. I’m taller. My breath is deeper and slower. My body feels whole instead of random tired body parts smushed together. My body is also better connected to my emotions and my thoughts.

I keep forgetting how good it feels to say no.

I continue to learn clarity is kindness; I'd take a clear no over a muddled or half-hearted yes any day. So I’m glad for the reminder, and in a messed-up way, the recovering people-pleaser in me is motivated to say no.

Because saying no is an act of kindness.

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