If you’re someone who’s always been the dependable one — the person who shows up, steps in, and saves the day — this one’s for you.
Because I’ve lived that role too. And while it can feel purposeful (even glorious at times), it can also quietly undo you — especially if you never learned how to say no without feeling like a bad person.
**When helping becomes harmful**
Let me take you back a bit. I’ve always been someone who likes to help — at work, with friends, in my family. That tendency shaped a lot of the life choices I made. I ended up in a helping profession, sure. But I also became the “go‑to” person in real life too. The one who people could rely on, without question. The one who *always* said yes.
And here’s the truth I had to face: when you make yourself available all the time, even at your own expense, two painful things start to happen.
First — you accidentally train people to expect you’ll always be there. No questions asked. No matter how stretched you are.
Second — you become terrible at recognising when *you* need help, or when you’ve taken on too much. You start ignoring the signs that something needs to be a no, just to keep being the “good” person.
**“This doesn’t feel right — but I said yes anyway.”**
Let me give you an example. A big one.
When my nan was alive, I was the one who always picked her up for family events. I’d get her food from the buffet, make sure she had what she needed, drive her home. I’d trained myself into being that “don’t worry, I’ve got it” person. And others had learned to expect it.
Then one day, I got a phone call from the hospital. It was about my dad. His heart had stopped. They were working on him, but I knew — deep down — what that really meant. It was likely he’d passed away.
Panicked and shaken, I called a family member to update them. And they said: “Can you come and pick me up?”
And just like that — I said yes.
But I wasn’t near my car at the time. I had a walk ahead of me, and in that space — finally — something different happened. I started to feel something beyond the panic. A tug in my chest. A rising wave of *why am I doing this?* Why am I about to go out of my way — again — when my own world is falling apart?
In that moment, I didn’t have the strength to say no directly. So instead, I called someone else and asked if they could help instead.
**Learning to hear your “no”**
That walk gave me what I’d been missing for years: the pause. The chance to feel what was really going on inside me. That maybe — just maybe — I wasn’t okay. That maybe I didn’t *want* to say yes.
If you’ve been overriding that inner voice for too long, it might be harder to hear it now. But trust me, it’s still there. Sometimes it’s a sentence in your head. Sometimes it’s a tight feeling in your stomach. Sometimes it’s just the sense that *this isn’t what I want*.
Once you start noticing it, you can start listening to it.
**Start with the small no’s**
Don’t begin with the big, scary no’s — the ones that carry a heavy emotional weight. Start small.
Say no when your partner asks to share your KitKat, even if it feels petty. Say no when your child asks to switch the TV channel, and you’re enjoying your show. These little moments matter. Because they teach your system — and everyone around you — that you’re allowed to have limits.
*“When you honour your limits, you teach others how to respect them too.”*
**The only reason to revisit a boundary… is to praise yourself for keeping it**
Once you’ve said no — let it stand.
Don’t overanalyse it. Don’t pick it apart in your mind for hours. Don’t let guilt sink its teeth in. Your job is to reinforce your decision. “I did it. I said no. And it was the right thing to do.”
Because each time you honour your boundaries, you become stronger. You stop burning out. You start showing up for others in a way that’s sustainable — and real.
And when you do that, you’re not just protecting your peace. You’re rewriting the story about what it means to be kind, compassionate, and human.
Not always available.
Not endlessly giving.
But honest. Clear. And still caring.
💛
by Gemma Bailey (with the help of Ai)
