The Cost of "No" - Stark. Spacious. Bare.

 

"Self Portrait"
Canon G7x Mark II
Snapseed
Hipstamatic

Saying "No" every minute of every fucking day has been the center of maintaining weight-loss..  "Do you want a dessert?" - NO "Do you want a beer?" - NO "Do you want some candy?" - NO "Do you want a late-night snack?" - NO "Can't you just eat in moderation?" - NO NO. NO. NO.  Just fucking NO. As I've written before saying "NO" has permeated the rest of my life.  Am I willing to people-please? - NO Am I willing to always put my needs second (or third) to other people's needs? - NO Am I willing to fall for "I've been thinking about you. I miss you. Can you do something for me?" - NO Am I willing to go on letting people ridicule my lack of knowledge about trivial shit like coding (for example) - NO Am I willing to not just fucking be myself in order to make others feel more comfortable? - NO All this NOing has worked so far - I have kept the weight off and my blood numbers are primo.  NOing / setting boundaries does come with a significant cost. It's best summed up by Emily Brown in her recent Tiny Buddha piece titled "The Lonely Ache of Self-Worth That No One Talks About"  A small excerpt: They don’t talk about this part. The hardest part about knowing your worth—after doing the work, setting boundaries, and getting crystal clear on what you want—is the ache. Not just any ache. The ache of being awake. The ache of knowing. The ache of not settling. I remember the first time I walked away from someone who didn’t mistreat me but who also didn’t quite meet me. I had spent years unraveling my old patterns: the people-pleasing, the over-giving, the “maybe this is enough” mindset. For the first time, I didn’t override my intuition. I didn’t pretend I was okay with something that didn’t feel like home. I left. And I felt powerful. But two days later, I sat alone on my kitchen floor, not crying, not spiraling—just aching. Aching for company. Aching for closeness. Aching for the comfort of being chosen, even if it wasn’t quite right. That’s what no one talks about: the emotional hangover of choosing yourself. No one warns you how lonely it can feel when you finally stop contorting yourself to fit someone else’s story. When you stop abandoning yourself just to be loved, there’s often a pause before something new begins. A stillness that used to be filled by “almosts” and “maybes” and “well, at least I’m not alone.” When you’ve been used to bending, standing tall can feel stark. Spacious. Bare. You’re no longer wasting energy explaining your needs or trying to make the wrong person understand your heart. But that clarity comes with a cost. And sometimes, that cost is company. The ache of growth is quieter than chaos, but it cuts deeper. It lingers in the in-between: that sacred space between no longer and not yet. There’s grief that comes when we raise our standards. A grief for the illusions we used to cling to. A grief for the comfort of something, even when it wasn’t truly nourishing. ~