What’s Keeping You From Finally Saying NO?

There is a moment in the life of many a woman, when she realizes that the version of herself she has been performing no longer fits. Sometimes that moment sneaks up quietly. Sometimes it breaks like a tsunami wave on the shoreline. And sometimes it looks as simple as not replying to a text message.

For me, it was the last one. At least, this particular time.

I used to believe I was good at boundaries. I could talk about them. Teach them. Explain them. But living them in the messy middle of real relationships was another story. I had a friendship for more than a decade that shaped so much of my identity. IYKYK.

It was intense, familiar, dependable, and if I am honest, deeply codependent.

I played the role I knew best. The strong one. The rescuer. The emotional first responder. The person who showed up fast and without question. The one who carried more than I ever admitted to myself.

Premier People Pleaser.

Over the years, something began to shift. After each interaction I felt drained in a way that sleep could not fix. I felt resentful even though I kept showing up. I said yes with my mouth while my body whispered no with increasing volume. My intuition was waving its arms, trying to get my attention, but my conditioning was louder.

Then she reached out again after some time apart. The words were polite, but the pattern was familiar. She needed something. And something in me cracked. Not a dramatic break, but a long overdue one. One where I might, permit the break instead of continuing to quickly superglu it.

For the first time, I did not respond. My silence, was me finally saying no.

If you know me in real life, you know that is not my style. I am “InstaViki,” the quick responder, the reliable one, the person who texts back before the phone even finishes buzzing. So choosing silence was not just a boundary. It was a full-body identity shift.

My heart pounded. My stomach twisted. My mind begged me to cave. But my body had already spoken. And for once, I honored it.

That small moment of not replying became one of the most important boundaries I have ever set. It was uncomfortable, raw, and full of self-doubt.

It was also the beginning of coming back to myself.

If you are a woman, especially a neurodivergent one, you have likely been taught that your lovability is measured in your availability.

Be easy. Be helpful. Be agreeable. Do not make things complicated. Do not need too much. And whatever you do, do not risk being seen as selfish.

This conditioning runs deep. It’s socialized, ancestral and generationally programmed in.

So deeply that when you try to set a boundary, your nervous system treats it like an emergency. Your heart races. Your breath shortens. Guilt floods in.

None of this means the boundary is wrong. It means you were never given a model for what healthy relational limits look like.

Of course it feels unnatural. Of course it feels scary. Of course you feel like you are being dramatic or cold.

That is not truth. That is survival programming.

Boundaries stir up grief because they reveal all the moments you abandoned yourself in the past. They force you to confront the gap between who you were taught to be and who you want to become.

That is heavy work. And it is also liberating work.

The biggest shift came from this realization:

The boundary was never between me and her. It was between the self I performed and the self I was allowing myself to return to.

I was not disappearing from the friendship. I was reappearing in my own life.

That clarity softened everything. Because the truth is this:

You are allowed to need rest.

You are allowed to take space.

You are allowed to respond when you feel ready rather than when someone expects you to.

You are allowed to change your mind.

And none of that makes you difficult. It makes you honest.

This world…we’re lacking honesty.

Let’s tell the truth about how boundaries feel in the body. They are not neat or tidy, duh. They do not always feel empowering. More often they feel like this:

Shaking hands.

A tight throat.

A racing heart.

That nauseous drop in your stomach.

Tears you cannot explain.

A strange cocktail of relief and panic.

This is not weakness. This is your nervous system learning a new language. For many of us, over-giving is generational. It is ancestral. We come from lines of women who survived by shrinking, smoothing, and carrying more than they should have had to.

From slavery, famine, ethnic cleansing, to being disregarded in medical science, being disallowed from managing their own money, to receiving lower salaries than male counterparts. Acceptance, availability and accommodation are deeply engrained in our epigenetic makeups.

Interrupting that lineage is not a single moment. It is diligent practice.

If saying no feels too sharp, try this instead:

Let me get back to you on that.

This pause is powerful!!

It breaks the autopilot pattern. It gives your body time to respond before your conditioning does. It creates space for clarity rather than reaction.

You do not owe anyone an immediate yes. You do not owe anyone an apology for honoring yourself first.

And like any homecoming, they require shedding what no longer fits.

That sometimes includes relationships. Sometimes habits. Sometimes versions of yourself you outgrew quietly.

Boundaries are how you build a life that does not overwhelm you. They are how you protect your peace, honor your time, and show up for yourself before you burn out.

You are not too much. You are simply done being available for too little.

If anything in this story hit you, you might be ready for support that helps you create boundaries not just in theory but in your body.

Here are two places you can start:

1. My free masterclass for late diagnosed and overwhelmed women

It is not productivity hacks. It is nervous system literacy meets self-trust meets real-life tools for everyday boundaries.

2. Holiday Breathwork Bundle Special

Book four virtual breathwork sessions for the price of three by January 31, 2026. You can use them anytime in 2026. This work is easier when your body is part of the conversation.

Take what you need. Leave the rest. And may your next boundary feel like truth, not betrayal.