No.

I used to think being nice was one of my greatest strengths.

Looking back, some of it was.

Some of it was anxiety with good manners.

Some of it was trauma wearing a church dress.

Some of it was me desperately trying to make sure nobody was upset with me.

The truth is, I spent a lot of my life believing that if I could just keep everyone happy, everything would be okay.

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.

Lately I’ve been reflecting on something that has followed me through nearly every season of my life. Not a particular person. Not a particular circumstance.

A word.

No.

A tiny two-letter word that has caused me more internal conflict than almost anything else.

For years, I viewed “no” as rejection.

No felt mean.

No felt selfish.

No felt unkind.

Yes felt holy.

Yes felt loving.

Yes felt Christlike.

The problem is that somewhere along the way I confused people pleasing with kindness.

They’re not the same thing.

Galatians 1:10 asks a question that makes me squirm every time I read it:

“For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God?”

Ouch.

If I’m honest, there have been multiple times in my life where I said yes to people while knowing it was breaking God’s heart.

Not accidentally.

Knowingly.

There were seasons when I was single and involved in relationships I had no business entertaining. Deep down I knew God was asking for obedience. I knew what He wanted from me.

Yet I kept saying yes.

Not because I didn’t love God.

Not because I didn’t know better.

Because I wanted acceptance.

I wanted to feel chosen.

I wanted to feel wanted.

I wanted people to approve of me.

The same thing happened in middle school.

And high school.

And if we’re being completely honest, twenty-six-year-old Jazmin wasn’t exactly making stellar decisions either.

There were conversations I participated in that I knew weren’t right.

Conversations that tore people down instead of building them up.

Gossip disguised as concern.

Criticism disguised as honesty.

The kind of conversations where everyone bonds over somebody else’s mistakes.

I knew better.

Yet sometimes I joined in because I wanted to belong.

The motivation wasn’t cruelty.

It was acceptance.

That’s what makes people pleasing so dangerous.

It often looks good on the outside while quietly destroying us on the inside.

The older I get, the more I realize that access is not about love.

Access is about safety.

Healthy relationships require boundaries.

Healthy relationships require honesty.

Healthy relationships require the ability to hear the word no.

What I’ve discovered is that if a relationship cannot survive a boundary, it was probably being sustained by the absence of one.

Beyoncé preached a sermon once.

Well, not really.

But she got awfully close.

Years ago she sang, “The first time I said no, it’s like I never said yes.”

The older I get, the more I understand exactly what she meant.

You can spend years helping.

Years supporting.

Years sacrificing.

Years being available.

Years showing up.

Years answering the phone.

Years fixing problems.

Years carrying burdens.

Then one day you say, “I can’t.”

One no.

One boundary.

One healthy decision.

Suddenly it’s like every previous yes disappeared.

I remember reading those lyrics years ago and thinking, “Wow, that’s dramatic.”

Then adulthood arrived and said, “Actually, Beyoncé may have a point.”

The reality is that some people become attached to our usefulness more than they become connected to us.

That’s a hard truth to sit with.

One of the biggest lessons God has been teaching me is that I am not responsible for fixing everything.

Which is unfortunate because for years I genuinely thought I was Olivia Pope.

If there was a crisis, I was ready.

If there was dysfunction, I had a solution.

If there was a conflict, I wanted to mediate it.

If someone was hurting, I wanted to carry it.

If someone was struggling, I wanted to save them.

Nobody asked me to do most of that.

I simply volunteered myself as tribute.

Somewhere along the way I confused compassion with responsibility.

I confused caring about people with carrying people.

The problem is that when you’re constantly tending everyone else’s garden, eventually your own starts dying.

If both of our lives are gardens and I’m busy pulling weeds in yours, watering yours, pruning yours, and worrying about yours, when exactly am I supposed to tend mine?

People pleasing isn’t productive.

It gets in the way of the very assignment God gave us.

It distracts us from our purpose.

It drains energy from our calling.

It convinces us that everyone else’s needs are more important than the work God entrusted to us.

Proverbs 29:25 says, “The fear of man lays a snare.”

A trap.

That verse perfectly describes people pleasing.

It’s a trap disguised as kindness.

A trap disguised as compassion.

A trap disguised as being a “good person.”

The deeper issue isn’t learning how to say no.

The deeper issue is understanding why no feels so terrifying.

For some people it’s approval addiction.

For others it’s impostor syndrome.

For others it’s low self-esteem.

Fear of abandonment.

Fear of losing relationships.

Old wounds that still haven’t healed.

Whatever the root is, we have to deal with it.

Because fruit always grows from roots.

One thing that stood out to me recently was Paul’s thorn in the flesh.

In 2 Corinthians 12:8-9, Paul pleaded with God three times to remove it.

Three times.

God’s answer?

No.

Or at least not the answer Paul wanted.

“My grace is sufficient for you.”

God didn’t remove the burden.

He provided grace within it.

I’ve started realizing that God only says no when no is the best answer.

Which means maybe we should stop treating the word like it’s evil.

Maybe no is not the opposite of kindness.

Maybe no is one of the tools kindness requires.

Maybe no is what protects peace.

Maybe no is what protects purpose.

Maybe no is what protects relationships.

And if it doesn’t save the relationship, it saves us.

The hardest truth I’ve learned through all of this is that God won’t bless what we put in front of Him.

Not because He’s cruel.

Not because He’s angry.

Not because He’s trying to ruin our fun.

Because He loves us too much to let an idol satisfy us.

People’s approval makes a terrible god.

Relationships make a terrible god.

Being needed makes a terrible god.

Being the fixer makes a terrible god.

Every idol promises what it cannot deliver.

People pleasing promises safety.

It promises acceptance.

It promises belonging.

What it actually delivers is exhaustion.

Jesus never asked us to keep everyone happy.

He never asked us to carry every burden.

He never asked us to fix every problem.

He never asked us to become everyone’s savior.

That position was already filled.

What He asked us to do was follow Him.

Sometimes following Him looks bold.

Sometimes it looks sacrificial.

Sometimes it looks courageous.

And sometimes it sounds like a simple, uncomfortable, holy little word I’ve spent most of my life avoiding.

No.