Feelings and Freedom

No.

I don't say it enough.

No, I really don't.
And it brings freedom.
"No" carries the same power as ofter-praised "yes" to open my life to new possibilities.
New possibilities need space. They need time. I have to take a bit of my life and put it into each new possibility to make it come alive. And because I occupy a fixed space and linear time dimension, I must surround these spaces and times with a wall of "No"s.

This is a painfully obvious truth. This is simply how life works. Surely, everyone know this.

Yet I feel I must apologize profusely for every "No" that I say.
If "No" is a knife, I feel I should cut with a dull blade.
If "No" is a wall, I feel I should build it of blankets and jello.
I only stop apologizing when I get tired and angry.
Henry Cloud claims that anger is the correct, healthy response to a trespassed boundary.
I cut my Nos with rubber and built them with gelatin and I apologize when I am wronged and I am surprised that I am deeply, frighteningly angry?

No.

Rebellion is scary because it is angry.
And anger is scary because it is powerful.
And I worry most of the time that I will do more damage than good with the power that I possess.
I fear my effectiveness. Therefore, I avoid my anger.

But if I say NO to my anger, then I must also say NO to the truth.
And "YES" to the truth is worth "NO" to all other things.
So sometimes, with trembling, I come into my anger.
And it always feels like rebellion.
My emotional signature to an intentional "No" is reckless, daring defiance.
My soft little "I'm-sorry-but-no"s become hearty "HELL NO"s.
I feel like I am being hopelessly difficult. High maintenance. Disagreeable. Non-compliant. 
And I'm so damn bad at this NO saying, that I probably am being a real bitch about it.
(Because if I don't please everyone, I'm obviously a bitch.)

I am stopped in my tracks by the sweet release that this rebellion brings. Like a hot air balloon casting off ballast, I rise a little higher when I exile another Yes and put a No in its place.

I say NO to perfectionism. And I say YES to right where I am now.
I say NO to caring about this or that detail. And I say YES to enjoying the whole.
I say SCREW pleasing everyone! I can't do it and I WON'T. I'm going to please the one who loves me!
I say EFF thin; I would rather be strong.
I say NO to trying to control everything, and whoosh!
Suddenly I've cleared the clouds and I'm floating along in the sun. I've said YES to whatever outcomes God sends, and I'm defying gravity. I'm rebelling against anxiety and the crushing weight of hopeless responsibility. They have no space, no time here. My NO has severed their ties and my Nos have blocked their return. My now empty hands reach out to receive contentment, and my heart swells with a sense of God's pleasure.

Against an objective standard, my rebelliousness might not even turn out to be actual rebellion. My feelings, while they are valid, should not be confused with the truth. Many of these "revolts" are just the mundane confrontations necessary to healthy relationships. My feelings about them are a reflection of how deeply I am a slave to the expectations of others. I am so ready to surrender my identity to how well I have pleased them, that staking my claim to my own identity feels like an act of war. I have rendered authority in my heart to lies and false priorities. I have donned a nice, safe, life-vest and I am floating with the status quo. My No feels like rebellion, because I'm swimming upstream and going against the tide. But mutiny to a false captain is loyalty to the king.

I place one No on top of another. I am building a wall. I am building a door frame. I am not doing it very well, and they often tumble down and must be stacked again. I am, however, growing stronger in both my ability to stack them well and in my confidence that stacking them is exactly what I should be doing. I rebel and say No, that I might say Yes to my Beloved.