Contrary to popular belief, my use of the word “no” is not a blow to your ego. Nor is it a term to be taken lightly. There is power in the word “no,” and it has been denied to me for centuries. “No” feels dangerous on my tongue. I think it should be followed by something— “thank you,” “I’m sorry.” No. “No” is sacred. It is mine to claim. I bring it to my breast in the tenderest of embraces, and this does not make me bitter. I am not cruel, hurtful, cynical. I am not a bitch for denying you something that is not yours. “No” is meant to protect me, my space, my soul—“no” is baptismal. To be annointed with the word “no” is to understand the all-encompassing love of an indifferent God. “No” is not a woman’s word, but it will be mine. I will be its disciple; I will use it until my last breath.
And, someday, I will understand the warmth and power of a real, enthusiastic “yes.”