The Art of Saying No
a meditation on boundaries
In a world that celebrates perpetually doing more, it can feel very difficult to say no. We honestly don’t give ourselves the dignity of refusal. We celebrate doing more as doing better. We feel that yes implies a positive, can-do attitude. No sounds stubborn.
I’m no stranger to this. I’ve always been extra generous with my time. “Of course I’d love to celebrate your birthday!” And “I’ll come support you at your event.” And “yes, I will help you figure out that situation you’re dealing with.” That is, until I started to feel resentment creeping in after saying yes. Until I started to realize that saying yes to everything else actually sometimes meant saying no to myself.
But somehow yes still feels easier than no. And for some genuinely heartfelt reasons: We don’t want to disappoint others. (We people please.) Or we equate agreeability with likability and/or value. We mistake accessibility for generosity. And we worry that if we say no, we won’t be invited again. We’ll miss out on an opportunity.
When we examine these patterns, we begin to see that our automatic yeses may stem from fear rather than a genuine desire to participate. Fear of rejection, fear of being seen as difficult, fear of missing out.
But saying no is not selfish or difficult—it's an act of self-respect for both ourselves and others. What if we reframed saying no as choosing to honor boundaries, understand ourselves and our limits, and be committed to what truly matters? Every yes comes with an opportunity cost—a tradeoff of our time, energy and attention.
Perhaps what we really need is permission to be human: to have limits, preferences, and finite resources. Permission to disappoint others occasionally in service of not disappointing ourselves constantly. And permission to set boundaries. I have learned (and it’s taken time!) that a boundary is not a wall; it's a gate with a consciously chosen latch. We can open it when we decide to, and keep it closed when we need to. When I set boundaries, I give other people permission to consider their own limits as well. It’s a practice that doesn’t have to shut down our relationships, at least not healthy ones.
In this way, saying no can be an act of integrity. When we honor our genuine capacity and interests, we show up more authentically in the commitments we do make. It can be a gift to others. Let’s be really honest - a reluctant yes can lead to resentful participation. And if we were to boy out, maybe someone who truly may want to be there could take our place. Saying no can be a practice of discernment: each no helps us clarify what we truly value and want to prioritize. And of course, it can be a form of resource management. Just as we wouldn't spend money we don't have, we can learn not to spend time and energy we don't possess.
The art of saying no is ultimately the art of saying yes to what matters most. It's choosing depth over breadth, quality over quantity, intention over reaction. When we master this art, we discover that our yeses are more meaningful, our relationships more honest, and our energy more sustainably directed toward the things that truly deserve our precious attention. The default isn’t a thoughtless no (and it’s definitely not yes). It’s: Do I actually want to? Does this resonate with my current needs? Does this fill my cup personally or benefit me professionally?
If the answers to these questions aren’t a resounding yes, perhaps it’s worth considering declining the invite. That’s not always easy, so I’ve developed a series of practices that help me really check in with how I want to respond:
Pause before responding. "Let me check my calendar and get back to you" buys valuable reflection time. That said, try not to take too long. Nobody appreciates a last minute cancellation. Be respectful of the RSVP date.
Be honest but not over-explanatory. "I won't be able to commit to that right now" is sufficient. No need to justify why something doesn’t work.
Offer alternatives when appropriate. "I can't join the host committee, but I'd be happy to help with one specific task."
Remember that disappointment is temporary. And: Showing up half-heartedly can have longer lasting effects. For example, showing up overwhelmed and thinking about your to-do list. Showing up exhausted and being unable to authentically connect. I, personally, don’t want to show up as less than my best self.
Find other ways to honor what’s important to others. Write a note, send flowers, or find a way to acknowledge what matters to those you care about. There are many ways to show up for people.
In my own experience, the greatest gift of learning to say no is discovering that my worth was never dependent on my usefulness to others. Our value doesn't diminish when we acknowledge our limits; it becomes more apparent. When we stop trying to be everything to everyone, we can finally become ourselves to the people who matter most.
And maybe saying no is ultimately an act of faith: Faith that we are enough as we are, that genuine relationships can withstand (and even thrive with) honest boundaries, and that by honoring our authentic capacity, we can offer something more important to the world than mere compliance. In learning to refuse what drains us, we make space for what sustains us—and be generous with the person who makes everything else we do possible: ourselves.
Thank you.
Amazing; simple yet so true. Often we say yes because it feels easier, however saying no, actually in the long term is easier.