Taking Care Of Rain

Saying no is so much harder than it should be.

Like, ridiculously hard.

Not because I don’t want to say no, but because somewhere along the way, I got trained to prioritize everyone else’s comfort over my own peace. My own safety. My own gut feeling that something’s not okay here. That I don’t like how I feel when I leave that conversation or read that message or anticipate that phone call.

I’ve been practicing.

Actually rehearsing in the mirror. “No.” “I’m not available.” “That doesn’t work for me.” “I’m not comfortable with that.”

Without overexplaining.
Without apologizing.
Without softening the blow into nonexistence.

Because here’s the thing: a boundary is not a punishment. A boundary is not a wall. A boundary is the door I get to open and close. My door. My rules.

And still—ugh—the guilt.

The second-guessing.

The tiny spiral that happens after I send the text or hit the end call button or even think about having a conversation that might make someone uncomfortable. Even when that someone has made me uncomfortable repeatedly or said hurtful things or ignored me when I said, “Hey, this hurts.”

But here’s the part that gets me: when I don’t speak up? When I let it slide again, or twist myself into an apology pretzel trying to make someone else feel okay about mistreating me? I feel like shit.

I feel small and shaky and like I’m disappearing one tiny piece at a time.

So yeah, I’m choosing the other kind of discomfort.

The kind where I say, “Actually, no.” The kind where I draw a circle around myself and say, “This is mine.” Even if I tremble while I do it. Even if I cry after. Even if someone else says I’m “too much” or “too sensitive” or “making a big deal out of nothing.”

You know what?

If it hurts me, it’s not nothing. If it leaves me anxious or exhausted or spiraling into old shame stories, it’s not nothing.

So I’ve started drawing lines.

Not with barbed wire or flaming swords—though, honestly, sometimes I fantasize about that—but with a calm, quiet voice that says: I care. And also, I need space. I want to be kind. And I’m not okay with this behavior.

I’m walking away.
I’m turning off my phone.
I’m choosing me.

It still feels weird. It still feels hard. But it also feels like freedom. Like I’m remembering that I don’t exist to make everyone else more comfortable. That I can take up space. That I can have preferences and limits and standards and still be kind.

Still be soft.

Still be loved.

And the people who get it? They stay. They adjust. They respect it.

The ones who don’t? I let them go. That’s not cruelty. That’s clarity.

So if you’re scared to set that boundary today, know that I get it. And I’m in it with you. Shaky voice, sweaty palms, wobbly knees and all.

But we deserve peace.

We deserve self-trust.

We deserve to say no and not apologize for it.

And if they don’t like it?

That’s not your problem to fix.

That’s their work.

Yours is standing tall and walking away.