My "saying no" story. Everyone has one.
Background: when I was in high school, my friend Robert killed himself because I wouldn't go out with him. I "learned" that saying no could kill people, at least when I did it. You can imagine that I had a wee tiny problem saying no.
Years later, I volunteered at an emergency shelter. We took in people in all sorts of emergencies -- abused women with kids, runaways, etc. -- so everyone needed it to be a safe place. For this reason, we did not take people who were intoxicated. Every night, homeless guys would come to the door drunk, wanting to stay. We had to say no.
In training, we practiced saying no at the door. That's when I learned an important thing. We all had this need to convince the drunk guy that our decision was right, get him to agree with us. We explained, we blamed rules and higher-ups, etc., etc. -- to no avail, of course -- until we finally got angry enough and slammed the door.
The drunk person would just manipulate, accuse us of being uncaring, threaten the shelter with bad publicity. (The things we fear: I'm not nice and other people will think I'm not nice.)
And the funny part was realizing that the drunk guy was *never* going to agree -- he had a big interest in seeing it the other way. I was at the door, trying to convince a drunk guy that it really was better that he not come in and sleep in a nice, clean bed.
What I learned was that the advance work was important -- I had to convince myself that I had a right to say no -- it was rightfully my/our decision -- and that it was possible to say no simply, firmly, without anger.
I could explain if I thought it helpful, but I had no obligation even to explain, and sometimes explaining wasn't helpful ("You're intoxicated" does not elicit a "You're right, I'm intoxicated" response.)
I could just say, kindly, "No, sorry, you can't stay here tonight," maybe repeat it in response to whatever he said, but then close the door.
And that, btw, was much more respectful to the other person than my getting all defensive and resentful.
Years later, I volunteered at an emergency shelter. We took in people in all sorts of emergencies -- abused women with kids, runaways, etc. -- so everyone needed it to be a safe place. For this reason, we did not take people who were intoxicated. Every night, homeless guys would come to the door drunk, wanting to stay. We had to say no.
In training, we practiced saying no at the door. That's when I learned an important thing. We all had this need to convince the drunk guy that our decision was right, get him to agree with us. We explained, we blamed rules and higher-ups, etc., etc. -- to no avail, of course -- until we finally got angry enough and slammed the door.
The drunk person would just manipulate, accuse us of being uncaring, threaten the shelter with bad publicity. (The things we fear: I'm not nice and other people will think I'm not nice.)
And the funny part was realizing that the drunk guy was *never* going to agree -- he had a big interest in seeing it the other way. I was at the door, trying to convince a drunk guy that it really was better that he not come in and sleep in a nice, clean bed.
What I learned was that the advance work was important -- I had to convince myself that I had a right to say no -- it was rightfully my/our decision -- and that it was possible to say no simply, firmly, without anger.
I could explain if I thought it helpful, but I had no obligation even to explain, and sometimes explaining wasn't helpful ("You're intoxicated" does not elicit a "You're right, I'm intoxicated" response.)
I could just say, kindly, "No, sorry, you can't stay here tonight," maybe repeat it in response to whatever he said, but then close the door.
And that, btw, was much more respectful to the other person than my getting all defensive and resentful.
Labels: living well
posted by kath at
08:12
0 Comments
