The Courage To Say No

Dear younger me,

You think saying no means you’re failing. You think it means you’re weak, or selfish, or not enough. I’ve seen you swallow your exhaustion to take one more shift, to listen to one more story, to carry one more burden. You thought strength was never stopping. You were wrong.

Here’s what works: Courage isn’t holding on. It’s letting go. It’s looking someone in the eye and saying, “I can’t.” Not “I’ll try.” Not “Maybe later.” Just, “I can’t.” That’s not failure—it’s the bravest thing you’ll ever do. I learned this the hard way. After my second tour, I collapsed in a hospital bed, not from a wound, but from carrying everyone else’s weight. I’d ignored my own tremors, my own need for rest. I thought asking for help was surrender. It was survival.

You didn’t know that saying no to others is saying yes to yourself. That your worth isn’t tied to how much you give. That the people who matter will understand. The ones who don’t? They weren’t worth your energy anyway.

I wish I could tell you: Your hands aren’t meant to hold the world. They’re meant to hold your own breath, your own peace. When you say no to a shift, to a conversation, to a demand that drains you—that is the courage I saw in the soldiers who walked away from the front line to save themselves. It’s the same courage I see in every client who finally says, “I need help.”

You’ll spend years thinking you’re broken for not being able to do it all. You’re not broken. You’re human. And humanity isn’t about never needing rest. It’s about knowing when to rest.

So here’s the truth: The next time someone asks for more, and your body says no, say it. Say it without apology. Say it like it’s the most important thing you’ve ever said. Because it is.

Courage isn’t what you think. It’s not the roar. It’s the quiet, steady word that saves you.

— Lois Brown, still serving