Dearest kind human,
Thank you for gathering here with me again. It still amazes me that we are doing this, meeting to connect and remember our shared challenges and strengths. A weekly gathering to remind ourselves that not only do we belong to each other, but we also depend on each other. Together, we are creating this open-hearted, safe space to explore questions, questions we may not find answers to anytime soon, or maybe ever.
No one taught me as a child that not every question has an answer. I somehow assumed that any lack of ‘answers’ was my fault—a shortfall or deficiency in me, a lack of effort that could only be fixed through endless striving. No one stopped me to say that the pursuit of something that didn’t exist could only end in failure. Of course, I fell short. I felt ‘not quite good enough,’ and for many chapters stayed trapped in a web far too small to contain any deep truth of life. But these experiences paved my path to peace.
Suffering became a great awakener. It highlighted the places I still held pain and felt powerless, thankfully not everyone needs to travel such an intense path in order to rest in peace.
I often share that I come from a long line of women who obeyed and resented. From the age of four, I remember consciously watching, confused, wondering why they didn’t challenge, why they didn’t speak up. Why didn’t they say no? Rock the boat? As I grew, I came to understand that we all long for safety, and that both our conscious and unconscious needs shape every choice we make. Not speaking up met needs too. Slowly, blame melted away. The roles of victim and villain blurred, and I could no longer stand so firmly in my judgements. It became clear that we are all products of our environments. Some of us grow through darkness, some through light, and most of us through a mix of both.
If you are reading this, I know that somehow, through luck, effort, karma, or some other grace, we have all found our capacity to question our beginnings, and ultimately the courage to keep questions alive in our own hearts. A dangerous, destructive yet necessary part of staying human and alive.
Questions keep us groundless, and they also keep us rooted in compassion. When we remember that we don’t know everything, we can extend grace to others who may also not always make the best choices or have the wisest answers.
But I digress. This letter began with the pondering of saying NO. Something I have learned, but something I still find deeply challenging at times. We don’t often talk about saying ‘No’. The world we live in is a ‘yes’ world. Even when we long to say ‘no’, we often soften it into: “Yes, let’s do that soon,” instead of offering the truthful answer.
I’ve told my daughters that ‘NO’ is a complete sentence. But I also share that saying it isn’t easy, and hearing it is often harder.
‘No’ wasn’t a word I used much in my early years. Words weren’t my strength. I had them, they fermented on my insides constantly, but they were not expressed. My mum once told me I wouldn’t speak to men until I was nearly 10 years old—and I certainly didn’t ever learn to tell them no. If I had, maybe the abuse would never have happened? Maybe life would be different? But that is not the story I lived. Like the women before me, I obeyed and resented, until I was finally in a relationship safe enough to learn to say NO. The safety I needed was with me, I was the one I had to learn to tend and care for.
‘No’ is a gift we are each born with. As infants, we cry and express our needs clearly. But by three months of age, many of us have already begun to lose this gift. We learn not to cry, to curb our needs and desires. Some of us never grow enough to do the inner work of reclaiming a true, compassionate, connected NO. At best, we manage a disconnected, withdrawing, severed ‘NO.’
How do we hold those younger, frightened parts of ourselves that still believe no = death? For me, it has been a slow and steady process. I needed good teachers, and safe humans who modelled boundaries and also reminded me of the preciousness of my own needs. To hold a boundary in one hand and compassion in the other is our true heart’s work. It doesn’t always look pretty. Everything has a cost. Not saying ‘No’ has a price, and so does using these two little letters.
My first pregnancy gave me a reason big enough to face the discomfort of ‘NO.’ Carrying a child, being responsible for another life, I began to learn to speak for what mattered most. I set boundaries and said ‘No’ in my best attempts to care for her. It took another decade before that grew into also consciously considering my own needs, some of the time too.
Childhood trauma freezes you into young, compliant states. Defrosting is the work of a lifetime.
My next learning ground was friendships. I began risking a ‘NO’ in relationships I thought were safe. With care, respect, and as much sincerity as I could, I built the courage to ask that my own needs be considered too. I quickly discovered who had the capacity to meet me in true vulnerability, and who didn’t yet have the resources. I saw how often ‘severing’ felt safer than ‘staying’, and it reflected the patterns of my childhood. I am proficient in both vulnerability and severing—and everything in between. I’ve tried it all. The more I learn about myself, the more I realise how similar we all are. We may lean in, or withdraw. We may express differently. But we are all just doing our unconscious best to survive and get our needs met.
Looking back, I am grateful for those challenges and changes. They taught me that we never truly know who will walk with us for a chapter, and who will stay for the whole book. This has given me open palms. I love more fully, and I hold the door open if someone chooses to leave. Alignment in everything.
This clarity prepared me for the next frontier: saying ‘NO’ to my family of origin, and within my intimate relationship. But those are stories for another day.
The hardest ‘No’s are in the places I care most deeply. This past month, I have constantly had to say no to women wanting to join my next retreat. I wish I could say yes to everyone. I long to serve all I can. But I am one human being. With the care and intimacy I offer in retreats, and even after increasing my numbers by almost one-third, it simply isn’t possible to take more. Again and again, I’ve had to reply to emails, messages, and calls with ‘NO.’ Each request was valid, precious, heartfelt. My compassion wrapped around them, but I had to decline. And every time, it was hard.
I know what it’s like to need support, and to wait longer than you want to receive it. In saying ‘No’ I’ve had to grow my compassion for myself. To better tend the young parts of me that were taught to say ‘yes’ no matter what. To reassure my grown-up self that even though life doesn’t always run on my timeline, it does run on divine time—and trust is still the best option. Some women on the waitlist received spots in the last-minute shuffle that always happens. Others have first place for March. Still, it feels hard. I remind myself hard is just part of grown-upping.
Inner work is gutsy. It is rarely easy. And we are all doing the messy best we can. Learning to say ‘NO’ is the same. It may feel like death sometimes. But a true, aligned ‘NO’ is life-serving—a discomfort worth befriending. A lifetime practice worth devoting your heart to.
Slow Sunday this week is a little different. It’s the annual Children’s Festival at our little Steiner School so rather than being a home body, pottering and intentionally exhaling, we are about to head out for a big day of peopling in this beautiful place we call home.
I’m sending you love and courage from my heart for whatever you are facing. My prayer is that this week you practice being as kind to yourself as you would be to a newborn puppy. Soft strokes, gentle voice, tender touch, reassuring whispers. That’s my promise to myself each day, to practice tending myself with tenderness, but remember even puppies, sometimes, need to hear ‘NO.’
With kindness, love, and an at-times awkward but committed life serving ‘NO.’
kmf xo
P.S. My hope is that these words find the hearts that need them most. If someone came to mind as you were reading, I’d love if you sent this their way.
© Kate M Foster. All rights reserved. An Invitation To Trust™
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I almost forgot - Sunflower update as promised xo Roberto finished my potting bench too, i’ll share a pic of this next week.. remind me if i forget?
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