I spent most of yesterday ruminating on why the word "no" is so freakin' challenging for me to say. Then, a subtle and surprising insight surfaced. Maybe, you're not anxious but angry. I was still digesting those words when a deep, sweep of an exhale affirmed that truth. I began to wonder how much pain and suffering could have been avoided if I had just learned to trust and voice my knowing no. So, now this will become my practice - distilling anger from anxiety - and sensing if the right response is really a "no" rather than a habitual, hesitant "yes."
No Before Yes
by Lauren Taub Cohen
I wish I could flip back
and find that moment
when I began to dress my anger
in the acceptable fashion
of anxiety.
I'd tell my younger self to stop
to toss the garb of anxiety aside
and allow the anger to remain
unabashedly bare.
"Let's learn to be angry together," I'd jest
with a friendly smile
and an outstretched hand.
She leads.
I follow.
Anger takes hold of us and we
take shape of it.
We move wildly
like animals unleashed
from the constraints of appeasements
sullen, obsequious nods
that would rather shake no
instead.
Tumbling down in exhaustion
we slide into laughter
which softens into a nap.
Upon waking
I suggest we practice
saying no.
"no?"
"no."
Slowly and haltingly
progress is made.
"No."
"NO."
Her eyes press together
in search of approval
with the strange taste of no
still tingling on her lips.
Like any new skill
this, too, will require practice.
I open my arms
and she scoots beside me
knee to knee
her flush face resting
heavy upon my shoulder.
My right arm brings her in
even closer
and I feel the soft flutter
of her blameless breath.
As my left hand combs
through her thin, wispy hair,
I place a kiss upon her tilted head
before whispering the words
I wish she could have learned.
"It's only when you feel safe
saying no
that you'll ever feel sure
saying yes."
