When I struggled to receive a No

In previous posts, I’ve shared moments from my own life where I either honoured my no—or couldn’t. Moments when I stayed true to myself, and moments when I didn’t find the words in time. Today, I’d like to share something just as important: a time when I was on the other side—when someone else expressed a no, and I couldn’t fully receive it.

I was organising a party to celebrate something I had accomplished and was deeply proud of. It meant a lot to me—both the event itself and the people I wanted to share it with. These were my closest friends, and I wanted to put a lot of thought into making the evening special. I found a date that worked for everybody, had carefully planned the menu to suit everyone’s dietary needs, arranged sleepovers, created a playlist, sent thoughtful invitations, and cleaned and prepared my home with excitement and care. What I looked forward to most was having everyone in one place—old friends meeting new ones, familiar faces connecting with people they’d heard me speak about.

A few days before the party, one of my dear friends shared that he might not be able to come. He was going through a difficult time and wasn’t sure how he’d feel being around people he didn’t know. I understood completely—if I had been in his shoes, I may have felt the same. And yet, in that moment, my own desire to have him there overrode his need for space.

I gently, then not-so-gently, encouraged him to come. I reassured him that my friends were kind and welcoming, that being around them might help lift his spirits. I wanted him to feel cared for and seen. And if I’m honest, part of me also wanted to feel like I mattered enough for him to make the effort. I didn't realise it fully at the time, but in a way, I equated his presence with validation—that our friendship, that I, mattered.

And so, he came. Just for a little while, arriving early before most of the other guests. I noticed he seemed a bit nervous, and I tried to spend time with him, to help him feel comfortable. But I was also distracted— guests arriving late, food cooling, two friends who didn’t know each other being on their own in my living room. I wanted everyone to feel seen, welcomed, connected. And in the effort to make everyone feel at ease, I wasn’t truly present with anyone...

I do remember hugging him, feeling a sense of tenderness and wishing I knew the right words to comfort him. He left not long after, before the party truly began. The evening unfolded with a game that sparked conversations, laughter, good food, and connection. People got on well, and I was grateful for that. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I was thinking about the experience with my friend and a quiet voice was asking: Should I have insisted? Did I really listen to him?

I don’t know if coming to the party made him feel better or worse. I don’t know if he did it to honour our friendship—or if he felt like he betrayed himself by saying yes when he really meant no. What I do know is that I wasn’t listening closely enough. And that staying true to someone’s no—even when it’s hard—is just as important as expressing your own.

Interestingly, someone else I had invited didn’t show up. He wasn’t a close friend- he had just been part of the thing I was celebrating- and I had expected his absence. I accepted his ‘‘no’’ easily, without a second thought. The difference? He wasn’t emotionally close to me. His ‘‘no’’ didn’t touch the same part of me that longs for connection and belonging with people I feel a soul closeness to. I see that now.

This experience reminded me that truly receiving someone’s no requires self-awareness and humility. It asks us to put our own desires aside and honour what the other person is communicating—even if it stirs something uncomfortable inside of us.

So, if we ever work together, I want to say this clearly:

If something I offer during a session doesn’t feel right for you—please say no.

If a direction we discuss doesn’t align with what you need—please let me know.

Your experience, your comfort, and your truth matter more to me than any plan or idea I may have.

Because safety, love, and trust are built not on compliance, but on freedom.

And I’ve learned—sometimes one of the most beautiful gift we can give someone is the space to honour their no.

Love,

Rosie x