Like most people, I can probably trace my biggest flaw back to the way I was raised.

I was born to be my brother’s keeper. Two years older than I, he was born with developmental disabilities. My mother never thought anything of telling me that I was conceived to make sure he had a companion, someone to be there for and look out for him, to make sure he was taken care of. (She never thought anything of telling me all kinds of things, actually, but that’s a topic for another time.) I was taught from early childhood to put others’ needs and wants well ahead of my own, much to my detriment over the years, to the point where I needed explicit support from my therapist in my late twenties to untangle my own interests from that of everyone else’s. As a grown-ass adult, finally liberated from the dark shadows of my toxic family, I am still frequently soul-searching, squinting in the bright light of realization that I can, and do, have an independent identity of my very own. These contemplations range from questioning the most mundane of influences (did I actually like Power Rangers as a kid, or was it something I was “into” just because my brother loved it?) to the grossly impactful. As a huge example, I recently left a career in the disability service field that spanned over a decade – a career I got into in the first place because after taking care of my brother with disabilities my whole life, I didn’t know what else I was supposed to do; I’m now much happier and more fulfilled as a teacher.

People-pleasing…overcommitting…inability to say no for fear of disappointing others…these are hallmark traits of personalities raised under the streetlamp glare of narcissistic abuse. Even now, at 33 years old, I hate saying no, and it takes me a long time to accept that choice and follow through with “no” when I need to. It’s been a major mindset shift, a matter of learning what appropriate boundaries are via all the examples I’ve had that show me what they are not. Boundaries are crucial, and that concept was a revelation. I was not allowed to say no, and even now, the feeling is foreign and the word leaves an odd taste in the mouth. I’m expected to say yes. People need me to say yes. I’m supposed to say yes…aren’t I?

So, my biggest flaw – I overcommit. I say yes more than I should. I keep extremely busy, and make jokes in poor taste about simply obeying the laws of physics; you know, how an object in motion tends to stay in motion, and an object at rest tends to stay at rest? In other words, you stop, you die. (Yeah, like I said, poor taste – but any overcommitter will simply nod, smile, and shrug in apologetic agreement.) There’s something to be said for the idea that the busier I keep myself, the less time and energy I have free to allow myself to consider all the things that are wrong with this lifestyle. The jury is out on whether that’s actually a deliberate tactic for narcissistic abusers – to keep their victims so occupied/preoccupied that there isn’t a chance to uncover the villainy at hand. Perhaps that’s neither here nor there.

I’ve gotten just a little better at not “yes”-ing myself to death over the last couple of years, largely with help from the following thought structure (like a flow chart inside my head, I haven’t physically drawn it out yet):

If you are both willing and able to do something, that’s easy, the answer is yes.

If you are neither willing nor able to do something, the answer is no.

If you are willing, but not easily able, to do something, the answer is no. (I say “easily able” because if it’s something you are willing to do, and can say yes to if you easily rearrange some plans – without bending over backwards – then that’s fine. If saying yes involves too much juggling, that’s not really able, and so the answer ought to be no.)

If you are able, but not willing, to do something – and honestly, this has historically been the hardest one for me – the answer is no.

Growing up, my willingness to do things was irrelevant, so I’ve had to learn as an adult that, first, what I want actually matters, and second, what it is that I actually want. My ability to say yes was what mattered, that’s where I was taught my value lay. But that’s wrong. Willingness and ability go hand in hand; if I am using my thought structure here to help me make a decision about whether to say yes or no, and I follow the flow but feel uneasy about the outcome, I go back over it and repeat the process until I come to a decision I can live with. Sometimes that takes awhile, especially if I find myself feeling guilt over saying that verboten two-letter N word. But I am allowed to say no. And so are you.

It turns out, if you stop – you don’t die. You breathe.