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“You teach people how to treat you by what you allow, what you stop, and what you reinforce.” ~Tony Gaskins
It was a Tuesday afternoon when I said the word that saved my sanity: “No.”
Just two letters. But the weight I’d been carrying for twenty-eight years finally lifted.
My phone was ringing. Again. It was my cousin, and I already knew what she wanted before I answered. Could I watch her kids this Saturday? I know it’s your only day off, but it would really help me out.
I sat in my car in the grocery store parking lot, hand hovering over the phone. My stomach twisted into that familiar knot—the one I got every time someone asked me for something. The one that whispered, “If you say no, they won’t love you anymore.”
But something was different this time. Maybe it was because I’d just left therapy, where I’d spent the entire session crying about how exhausted I was. Maybe it was because I’d canceled that same therapy appointment three times in the past two months to help other people. Or maybe it was because I finally realized: I’d been so busy being “helpful” that I’d forgotten how to help myself.
I let the call go to voicemail.
The Breaking Point
For as long as I could remember, I was the person everyone called when they needed something. Need someone to cover your shift? Call me. Need a ride to the airport at 5 a.m.? I’m there. Need someone to listen to your problems for three hours? I’ll cancel my plans.
I told myself it made me a good person. A kind person. A valuable person.
But the truth I couldn’t admit was that I wasn’t being helpful. I was only being terrified. Terrified that if I stopped being useful, I’d stop being wanted. That “no” was a door I was closing on relationships I couldn’t afford to lose.
The resentment built slowly, like water filling a bucket one drop at a time. I smiled while agreeing to things I didn’t want to do, even at the expense of my health. I said “it’s fine” when it wasn’t fine. I prioritized everyone else’s emergencies while my own needs collected dust in the corner.
That Tuesday was different because I’d finally realized something: I had canceled my therapy appointment again and again to help someone move. As I sat in my car afterward, I opened my calendar and counted. Forty-seven times. I’d canceled or rescheduled my own needs forty-seven times in six months to accommodate other people’s wants.
Not emergencies. Wants.
I was drowning, and I’d tied the anchor around my own neck.
The Decision
That day, I made myself a promise: I would no longer cancel my own needs to meet someone else’s wants.
I wrote it in my journal. I said it out loud in my car. I texted it to my best friend so someone else would know I’d committed.
The boundary was simple: My needs—therapy, rest, health, and peace—were non-negotiable. I would help others when I had capacity, not at the expense of my own well-being. And I would stop apologizing for having limits.
It sounded empowering when I wrote it down. But enforcing it? That was terrifying.
The First Test
The next day, my cousin called back.
“Hey! I know you’re probably busy, but could you watch the kids on Saturday? Just for a few hours.”
My heart raced. My palms got sweaty. Every cell in my body screamed, “Just say yes. It’s easier. Don’t make waves.”
But I thought about those forty-seven canceled appointments. I thought about how exhausted I was. I thought about the promise I’d made to myself less than twenty-four hours ago.
“I can’t do that,” I said, my voice shaking. “Saturday is my rest day.”
Silence.
“Oh. Okay. I thought you weren’t doing anything.”
There it was again. The guilt trip I’d been dreading. You’re not doing anything important, so why can’t you help me?
Old me would have caved. Would have said, “You’re right, I can move things around.” But guess what? The new me took a breath.
“Rest is important to me. I hope you find someone who can help.”
More silence. Then: “Okay. Talk later.”
She hung up, and I sat there feeling like the worst person in the world. Selfish. Mean. Cold.
But also… lighter.
The Pushback
Not everyone responded as calmly as my cousin.
Over the next few weeks, I started enforcing my boundary consistently. Each time, I felt that same terror—I mean, that I was destroying relationships, that people would think I’d changed (I had), that I was being selfish (I wasn’t).
Some people were genuinely supportive. My best friend said, “It’s about time. You deserve to rest.” But others didn’t take it well.
A family member accused me of “not caring about family anymore.” A friend said I “used to be so helpful” (translation: you used to do whatever I wanted). Someone actually said, “You’ve changed,” as if it were an insult.
And you know what? They were right. I had changed. I’d stopped setting myself on fire to keep other people warm.
The hardest part wasn’t the pushback itself but the internal battle. Every time I said no, a voice in my head screamed that I was being a bad person. That boundaries were just a selfish excuse to stop caring about people.
But slowly, I started to see a pattern: the people who pushed back the hardest were the people who benefited most from my lack of boundaries.
The ones who truly loved me? They understood. They adjusted. They respected my limits because they valued me as a person, not just as a service provider.
What Changed
Six months after setting that first boundary, my life looked completely different.
My relationships actually got healthier. The people who stayed weren’t there because I was convenient. They were there because they valued me. We had real conversations, not just me listening to their problems while mine went unspoken. I stopped feeling like a 24/7 emotional support system and started feeling like a friend.
My mental health improved dramatically. I stopped feeling resentful because I was no longer overcommitting. I had energy because I wasn’t constantly depleted. I showed up better for the people I loved because I was helping from a place of abundance, not obligation.
I respected myself more. Every time I honored my boundary, even when it was uncomfortable, I was sending myself a message: Your needs matter. You are worth protecting. You deserve rest.
And here’s what surprised me most: some of the people who initially pushed back eventually started setting their own boundaries. My sister told me, “Watching you say no taught me that I could too.” She’d been just as exhausted as I was, just as trapped in people-pleasing, and seeing me break free gave her permission to do the same.
The Uncomfortable Truth
Setting boundaries taught me things I wish I’d known earlier:
Some people only liked me because I was convenient. When I stopped being available 24/7, they stopped calling. That hurt badly, but it was also clarifying. Those relationships were transactional, not genuine.
My “helpfulness” was sometimes enabling. By always being there to fix other people’s problems, I was preventing them from learning to solve their own. I wasn’t actually helping; rather, I was creating dependency.
Saying yes to everyone meant saying no to myself. Every time I said yes to something I didn’t want to do, I was implicitly saying my own needs weren’t important enough to protect.
Boundaries aren’t mean in the actual sense, but they’re essential. They’re not walls to keep people out; they’re guidelines for how I want to be treated. They’re an act of respect for both myself and others.
How to Start
If you’re where I was initially—exhausted, resentful, drowning in obligations you didn’t choose—here’s what helped me:
1. Identify your non-negotiables.
What are the things you need to protect your well-being? For me, it was therapy, rest days, and time for my own work. For you, it might be different. Write them down.
2. Start small.
Don’t overhaul your entire life at once. Pick one boundary and practice enforcing it. “I don’t answer work calls after 7 p.m.” “I need twenty-four hours’ notice for favors.” Start there.
3. Use a simple script.
When someone asks for something that violates your boundary, try: “I understand you need help, but that doesn’t work for me right now.” You don’t owe anyone a dissertation on why.
4. Expect discomfort.
The guilt will come. The fear will come. Keep the boundary anyway. Discomfort is not a sign you’re doing something wrong but a sign you’re doing something different.
5. Stay consistent.
Boundaries only work if you enforce them every time. If you make exceptions, people will learn to push until you cave.
One Year Later
Last month, that same cousin called. She needed help with something, and I wasn’t available.
“No worries,” she said. “I’ll figure it out. Talk soon!”
I didn’t feel guilty; there was no passive aggression. Just acceptance.
That Tuesday afternoon a year ago, when I sat in my car and finally said no, I thought I was risking everything. I thought people would leave, that I’d end up alone, that setting boundaries meant choosing isolation.
Instead, I learned something more important: boundaries don’t push the right people away. They filter out the wrong people and create space for the ones who matter.
The ones who love you will respect your limits. The ones who don’t were never loving you. They were only loving what you could do for them.
And that two-letter word “no” didn’t make me lonely the way I thought initially. Rather, it made me free.
About Ikeagwu Joy
Ikeagwu Joy is a public health professional and youth coach. She helps people understand health risks early and make informed lifestyle choices that prevent disease.
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