When I was little, my parents nicknamed me “Nancy No-No.” I’m not sure what the backstory is, but I’m pretty certain it had to do with me not wanting to be told what to do, or how do it. It was a defense mechanism that started early. As I got older, I became a master at digging my heels in.
My reasoning was based on what to me was simple logic. It made perfect sense:
No one knows anything I don’t already know.
No one knows what I need better than I do.
There is nothing anyone can tell me that could possibly contribute to my growth as a human being.
This was my stand: Don’t tell me what to do, think, feel, wear, eat, read, learn, understand, desire, and definitely don’t tell me how to cut my hair. I was a NO waiting to happen because input from others made me feel small, stupid, and inconsequential. The biggest reason for my resistance was that if I was found lacking, I thought it meant I was NOT GOOD ENOUGH.
That became my excuse for not trying things. Or for trying them and quitting quickly when I felt like I was getting close to failure…real or imagined. I can see now it was mostly imagined. For years I avoided pursuing things that I was interested in because I thought things should come easy. I compared myself to others, instead of seeing my own worth. If things weren’t easy, I thought it must be because there was something wrong with me. If I couldn’t have immediate success, I’d lose interest and walk away. I thought people were born talented. I didn’t understand that growth takes work and time.
It never occurred to me, not once, that I might succeed.
When it was time to go to college, I only applied to one school, and it was open enrollment. Everyone got in, I couldn’t be rejected. Two weeks into second semester I dropped out. I had no idea what I wanted to learn and didn’t feel prepared for anything. Nobody told me going to college would help me figure it out. Writing term papers was daunting and I was embarrassed to ask for help. I was the one who was supposed to know everything! To avoid dorm life, I went to a commuter college because I was afraid of living with other students. My social interactions in junior high and high school had been pretty disastrous. It wouldn’t be as easy for me to hide as I could when I was younger.
When I announced that I had dropped out, my father was furious. I didn’t listen to all of his good reasons to stay in school and I didn’t share my fears with him. I sat like a stone through his tirade, my emotions buried deep. My mind was made up. Nothing touched me. Not his words, his concern, his love.
Don’t tell me what to do.
When I quit, I struggled. To validate my decision, I made up excuses to rationalize my likely mistake. I couldn’t own that maybe I had been wrong. It hurt my pride too much. My bottom line was that I was terrified of hard work. Failing was out of the question. I’d always been the kind of student who did well without trying very hard and I didn’t think that would work for me in college.
It’s taken me 45 years to admit to anyone that I think my dad was right.
I’ve said no to so many things in my life. No to travel, to new experiences, to anything, ANYTHING outside of my carefully crafted comfort zone. Not participating or taking risks was my way of avoiding discomfort.
I spent so many years avoiding writing because I convinced myself that I would fail. The imagined failure, the pain I wanted to avoid, stopped me from trying, even though there were people in my life who encouraged me, and saw my talent. Writing the word “talent” makes me cringe even now. It’s uncomfortable to be acknowledged. I have trust issues. I get suspicious if someone says nice things about me, and I assume they’re just being kind. Or worse yet, that they’re trying to humiliate me, or are laughing behind my back.
Because of the work I’ve done in therapy and 12 Step recovery I can recognize my stubbornness, my need to defend, my fear of new things. Now when that NO wants to pop out of my mouth, I take the time to get curious.
When my NO comes up––after some internal kicking and screaming––I’m learning to shift my attitude. I take a deep breath and ground myself, become more present to the feelings in my body, the tightness in my jaw, the constriction of my solar plexus. I talk to the scared little kid who lives inside of me. I tell her, “It’s okay, hold my hand. I’ve got you. We can figure this out together.”
Calling myself a writer and doing the work is a triumph for me.
My resistance is my opportunity to learn something new, to examine the flip side of my NO. Where is my YES? Why is it hiding? What am I afraid of? I try to locate my humility. To be honest with myself. I remember to admit that I don’t know everything and to remember that there’s a world outside of my safe little bubble. I’ve started to take more risks. I’m seeing that I can be afraid of doing something new, and then do it anyway. I’m turning my NO into YES more and more. There is so much less to be afraid of than I ever thought.
I am not an island. I let people in and accept their wisdom and guidance. I say thank you for the contributions that they want to offer. I won’t sit life out in an effort to stay safe (whatever that means). I won’t play small anymore. I’m doing the hard stuff. YES is a very powerful word.
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Awesome my dear Nan. So happy you are discovering your YES! What a contribution to all of us wherever our NO kicks in!
This: "my carefully crafted comfort zone" has been my downfall, as well. Getting curious has helped me move into my getting to know Joy phase. For which I am grateful. Thank you for your beautiful essays.