The Day I Learned Not to Say No | EP9

In this episode, I reflect on a childhood memory that shaped my relationship with conflict and boundaries.

As a child, I learned that saying no could bring punishment, and that staying quiet was often the safest way to survive. That lesson stayed with me long into adulthood, influencing how I handled relationships and my own voice.

This episode explores how early experiences shape our patterns — and why learning boundaries is often part of a deeper healing journey.

Email: elenaswy@gmail.com

IG: @elenaswenyu

Transcript

How I Met Jesus — Episode 9

The Day I Learned Not to Say No

Hi, this is Elena.

Welcome to How I Met Jesus.

In the last episode, I talked about boundaries.

How I finally realized that saying no directly was not selfish.

It was necessary.

But after that realization, another question kept coming back to me.

Why was it so hard for me to say no in the first place?

Why did conflict feel so threatening to me?

Why did disappointing someone feel almost unbearable?

And when I started reflecting on that question,

my mind kept returning to a memory from my childhood.

Before I tell that story, there is something important to understand.

I didn’t grow up with my parents.

Right after I was born, I was sent to live with my grandparents.

My dad traveled frequently for work, and my mom worked night shifts.

They believed they didn’t have the time to take care of me properly.

So I stayed with my grandparents until I was twelve.

Looking back now, I realize something.

Love in that house was rarely expressed.

If I had food to eat, clothes to wear, and a chance to go to school,

that was considered enough.

So very early in life, I learned to be the “easy child.”

At home and at school, I tried to be the “good girl.”

Quiet. Obedient. Don’t be a burden.

Then there was one moment that stayed with me.

I think I was about seven years old.

One day I finished my homework early.

I was excited because I thought I could go outside and play.

But my grandpa told me to do another hundred arithmetic problems.

I didn’t want to.

I remember sitting there on the chair, completely still.

Not yelling.

Not arguing.

Just quietly refusing.

And that was enough to make him angry.

He kicked me off the chair and I fell to the ground.

Then he went outside and came back holding a thick wooden stick.

And he started hitting me.

I don’t remember how many times.

What I remember is lying on the ground, crying and screaming.

At some point I looked toward my grandma.

She was sitting on the couch nearby.

I remember looking at her, hoping she would stop him.

But she turned her head away. She didn’t look at me.

And strangely, I don’t remember what happened after that.

The memory just… stops.

And I never told my parents about it.

Partly because I didn’t want them to get into conflict with my grandpa.

But deep down, I also believed something else.

Even if they knew, there wasn’t much they could do.

So I kept it to myself. 

And when a child keeps painful things inside for long enough,

silence slowly becomes a habit. A habit that can follow you for years.

And that’s something I only understood much later.

You know what?

Children don’t learn through explanations.

They learn through fear.

That moment taught me something very clearly.

Resistance was dangerous.

Saying no could bring punishment.

So the safest thing to do was to cooperate.

To stay quiet.

To become easy.

And when a child learns that lesson early enough,

it doesn’t stay in childhood.

It follows them into adulthood.

Into friendships.

Into work.

Into romantic relationships.

And that belief followed me into adulthood.

So years later, when I found myself unable to say no in relationships,

it wasn’t because I lacked intelligence.

It wasn’t because I didn’t understand boundaries.

It was because my nervous system still believed something very old:

Conflict is dangerous.

That’s why when tension appeared in my adult life,

my instinct wasn’t to draw a boundary.

My instinct was to adjust.

To calm things down.

To avoid conflict.

Because somewhere deep inside,

I was still that little girl trying not to get hurt.

And that’s when I finally understood something.

Learning boundaries is not just learning how to say no.

Sometimes it means teaching your body

that saying no is no longer dangerous.

That your voice will not be punished.

That conflict does not equal abandonment.

For me, that healing didn’t happen overnight.

But my faith helped me begin that process.

Because for the first time, I started bringing these memories to God.

Not hiding them.

Not pretending they didn’t matter.

Just bringing them honestly.

Let’s Pray:

Dear Lord,

Today I bring to You

the little girl who was afraid to say no.

The little girl who believed that staying quiet was the only way to stay safe.

Help her know that she is safe now.

That her voice matters.

And that truth is not something she has to fear anymore.

In Jesus’ Name,

Amen.