The “Yes" Paradox: How Learning to Say No Set Me Free
There's a piece of advice that gets handed out constantly, especially to people like me who tend to isolate or struggle socially: just say yes more. Push yourself. Show up. Get out of your comfort zone.
And I tried. I really did.
But here's what nobody told me about forcing myself to say yes: the moment I agreed to something I wasn't actually ready for, a little voice in the back of my head would immediately start whispering, "you shouldn't have agreed to that."
And then the spiral would begin.
I'd start mentally drafting my cancellation text before I even put my phone down. I'd rehearse excuses. I'd calculate how far in advance I needed to bail to seem like a reasonable person. And if I couldn't bring myself to cancel? I'd spend the days (sometimes weeks) leading up to the event in a low-grade state of dread, anxious about what it was going to be like, how I'd feel, whether I'd have enough energy, whether I'd regret going, whether I'd regret not going.
It was exhausting. And it wasn't making me more social. It was just making me more anxious.
A Weird Realization
Working with my therapist, I started practicing something that felt almost rebellious at first: giving myself actual, genuine permission to say no.
Not, "no, but I really feel terrible about it." Not "no, with apologies attached." Just... no. A complete sentence. A valid answer.
And something unexpected happened.
The more freely I could say no, the less I needed to.
I know. It sounds backwards. It felt backwards to me too, at first. But here's what I think is actually going on:
When "yes" is the only socially acceptable answer, every invitation becomes a trap. You're not choosing to go, you're just trying to avoid the guilt of not going, or the spiral of “this friendship will surely fall apart if I keep flaking out.” And your nervous system knows the difference. It flags the whole thing as a threat, not as a social opportunity.
But when "no" is genuinely on the table? Suddenly "yes" becomes a choice. And choices feel different than obligations. Choices don't make you want to immediately figure out how to undo them.
The Movie Group Chat
Here's my actual real-life example, because I think it illustrates this better than anything abstract I could say.
I have a friend group that is deeply into movies. Like, these people see everything. They have opinions about cinematography. They track release dates. I love them, but the movie group chat is...a lot.
I have always felt obligated to go, or at least give a “valid” reason why I couldn’t. They're my friends. Movies are their thing. I didn't want to be the person who never shows up. So I'd say yes even on work nights when I was already running on empty. I'd buy the ticket. I'd tell myself I'd feel better once I was there.
Sometimes I'd flake last minute. Sometimes I'd drag myself there and spend the whole time wishing I was home. I would feel extremely uncomfortable in a theater seat that, when I’m in the right mood, feels cushier than my sofa at home. Sometimes I'd buy a ticket I never used, and then feel genuinely stupid about it, like I had paid money to feel bad about myself.
I don't think I saw three movies in all of last year.
Since I started actually letting myself say no? I've seen three movies in the past month and a half.
I'm still in the group chat. I just don't go unless something looks genuinely interesting to me, or unless I actually want some social time. And when I do go, I'm present. I'm not counting down to when I can leave. I'm not already composing the "I'm so sorry, something came up" text in my head.
What This Actually Is
I've been thinking about why this works, and I think it comes down to something pretty simple: autistic burnout and anxiety don't just come from doing hard things. They come from doing things without consent. Even your own consent.
When I forced myself to say yes, I was overriding my own internal signals. My brain and body were saying "this is too much right now" and I was telling them to be quiet and comply. That's a recipe for shutdown, not growth.
Giving myself permission to say no is, weirdly, an act of self-trust. It's telling my nervous system: I hear you. I'm not going to ignore you. And because I'm not going to ignore you, you don't have to scream.
And when it stops screaming, there's a lot more room for "yes."
