17 Drafts Later, She Still Couldn't Send This Text
When saying what you actually mean feels impossible
Hi friends,
Anna sat on our video call last week staring at her phone with this look of complete frustration. She'd been trying to respond to a text from her friend for three days.
"I keep writing it and then deleting it," she told me. "It should be simple. She asked if I want to go to her birthday dinner, and I don't. But I can't figure out how to say that without sounding terrible."
She showed me her drafts folder. Seventeen different versions of essentially the same message, each one more apologetic and over-explanatory than the last.
"I just want to say 'I can't make it, but I hope you have fun,'" she said. "But every time I type that, it feels mean. So then I start explaining why I can't go, and it turns into this whole thing about my schedule and my energy levels and how much I value our friendship..."
Anna had turned a simple "no" into a dissertation on why she deserved to decline an invitation.
When saying no requires a thesis
This is something I see constantly with women who struggle with boundaries: we think we need to provide a compelling argument for why our "no" is justified.
Anna didn't just want to decline the dinner—she wanted her friend to understand that her reasons were valid, that she wasn't being selfish, that she was still a good friend despite not being available.
"I realized I'm not just saying no to the dinner," she told me. "I'm trying to say no in a way that makes everyone feel good about it, including me."
But here's what Anna was learning: when you over-explain your boundaries, you're actually undermining them.
The permission we think we need
Anna had fallen into what I call "boundary justification syndrome"—the belief that other people need to approve of your choices before you're allowed to make them.
Every draft of her text was an attempt to get her friend's permission to say no. She was looking for the magic combination of words that would make her decline feel reasonable to everyone involved.
This pattern shows up everywhere, and I wrote about it extensively in my piece about saying no without guilt. The need to justify our boundaries often comes from a deep fear that our needs aren't valid unless other people agree they are.
"What if," I asked her, "you didn't need to convince anyone that your no is valid?"
"But what if she thinks I'm being selfish?"
"What if she doesn't? And what if it's okay if she does?"
That question sat between us for a long moment.
The story behind the paralysis
As we talked, it became clear that Anna's text anxiety wasn't really about this one dinner invitation. It was about a lifetime of learning that her needs only mattered if other people agreed they were important.
She'd learned early that saying no required elaborate justification. That declining invitations meant providing evidence of your unavailability. That boundary-setting was something you had to argue for, not something you just got to do.
This connects deeply to the patterns I explored in my newsletter about breaking free from abandonment fears—how our fear of being rejected or abandoned can keep us trapped in exhausting patterns of over-explaining and people-pleasing.
"I feel like if I just say 'I can't make it,' people will think I don't care about them," she said.
"But what if people who care about you want you to take care of yourself, even when that means saying no to them?"
The text that changed everything
We practiced what Anna called "boring honesty"—saying what she meant without elaborate explanations or pre-emptive apologies.
Instead of: "I'm so sorry, but I don't think I can make it to dinner. I've been really overwhelmed with work lately and I'm behind on a bunch of personal stuff, plus I've been feeling pretty drained socially and I think I need to take some time to recharge. I really hope you understand and that you have the most amazing time! I definitely want to celebrate with you another way soon..."
She wrote: "I can't make it to dinner, but I hope you have a wonderful time! Let's plan something to celebrate soon."
"It felt terrifying to send," she told me later. "Like I was being rude or uncaring. But you know what my friend wrote back? 'No problem! Thanks for letting me know. Let's do lunch next week.'"
No drama. No hurt feelings. No demands for explanation.
What we're really afraid of
Anna's struggle with that text message revealed something deeper: she was more afraid of being seen as selfish than she was committed to honoring her own needs.
She'd rather exhaust herself crafting the perfect explanation than risk someone thinking poorly of her choices. She'd rather over-function in her relationships than trust that people who care about her want her to take care of herself.
"I realized I've been treating my boundaries like they're up for debate," she said. "Like other people get to vote on whether my needs are valid."
The practice that's changing everything
Anna started what she calls "no-explanation experiments"—practicing stating her boundaries without justifying them.
"I won't be able to help with that project." Not because she was too busy or had other commitments, just because she couldn't.
"That doesn't work for me." Not with a list of reasons why, just because it didn't.
"I'm not available that day." Not because she had something more important to do, just because she wasn't available.
"It feels revolutionary," she told me. "Like I'm finally allowed to have preferences without defending them."
If you've been struggling with similar patterns, you might find my newsletter about protecting your energy reserves helpful—it dives deeper into practical strategies for setting boundaries that actually stick.
What I'm curious about
Do you struggle with over-explaining your boundaries? Do you find yourself writing long justifications for simple decisions?
Hit reply and tell me. I think there are a lot of us who've learned that our needs only count if other people agree they're reasonable.
What if you could say no without providing a case for why your no is justified?
Maybe you'd stop spending so much mental energy crafting the perfect response. Maybe you'd discover that most people respect clear boundaries more than elaborate explanations. Maybe you'd learn that you don't need anyone's permission to take care of yourself.
Anna is discovering that the people who truly care about her don't need her to justify her boundaries—they just need her to communicate them clearly.
Your no is a complete sentence. Your boundaries don't require anyone else's approval. You're allowed to make choices based on what works for you, not on what you can convince other people is reasonable.
Talk to you soon,
Mary
Starting next week, I'm sharing some deeper conversations about the things we don't always talk about—the real struggles behind the success, the questions we're afraid to ask, the patterns that keep us stuck. Thank you for being here for the messy, honest, human parts of growth.
