Why can't I say no?

This is a phrase often heard in therapy sessions—sometimes spoken with anger, sometimes with sadness, but almost always with a great deal of guilt.

“I knew I wanted to say no… but I said yes again.”

Some people say they agreed to do a favor they didn’t have time to do. Others talk about an invitation they would have preferred to decline, mandatory overtime, a loved one they didn’t dare set a boundary with, or even a relationship in which they long accepted things that caused them pain.

And, almost without fail, the same question comes up:

“Why can’t I do it?”

Many people think it’s a matter of self-confidence or assertiveness. These factors certainly play a role, but in my practice, I’ve found that things are often more complex.

Being unable to say no is rarely just a communication issue. It’s often a way of protecting something much deeper.

“Yet I know I should have said no…”

What’s puzzling is that most people already know what they would have wanted to do. They’re not lacking in clarity. On the contrary, they can describe very clearly what happened.

“In my head, I knew I didn’t want to.”

“I caught myself saying yes even though I was thinking the exact opposite.”

“When I got home, I felt guilty about it all evening.”

This disconnect is often a source of great suffering, because it makes people feel as though they’re no longer being true to themselves. I’ve also noticed that many patients don’t just suffer because of what they accept. Above all, they suffer because they don’t understand why they keep accepting it.

Saying “no” isn’t just about refusing

When it comes to difficulties setting boundaries, the same advice comes up again and again.

• “You have to learn to assert yourself.”

• “You should think more about yourself.”

• “Just say no.”

This advice is often well-intentioned, but it can sometimes leave people feeling even more helpless. After all, if saying no were that simple, they’d already be doing it.

In reality, saying no isn’t just about refusing a request.

For many people, saying no means taking a risk:

• The risk of disappointing someone.

• The risk of being rejected.

• The risk of creating conflict.

• The risk of coming across as selfish.

Or, even more deeply, the risk of no longer being loved in the same way. This is often where things get interesting: it’s no longer just the “no” that’s difficult. It’s everything that “no” represents.

For therapists, behind a “yes” there is often a fear

When I work with someone who says they have trouble setting boundaries, I rarely try to address the behavior directly. I prefer to ask myself another question:

What makes that “no” so dangerous for them?

For some patients, it’s the fear of conflict. For others, it’s the fear of disappointing others or the feeling that they don’t really have the right to think of themselves. Exploring this meaning often seems more fruitful to me than quickly encouraging someone to “be more assertive.”

Behavior always makes sense within a story.

Guilt: An Emotion That Keeps Coming Back

If there’s one emotion I find almost without fail in people who struggle to say no, it’s guilt. It’s often misunderstood. Many patients say:

“I feel guilty even though I haven’t done anything wrong.”

That’s precisely what unsettles them. They know they have the right to refuse, that they aren’t responsible for other people’s happiness, and that they have the right to be tired, busy, or simply not in the mood.

But despite that… the guilt is still there.

Over time, I’ve come to realize that this guilt doesn’t always reflect the present; sometimes it reveals an old way of relating to others.

Some people grew up with the idea that they had to be reasonable, helpful, available, or not rock the boat. Others learned very early on that their own needs came after those of others. This is obviously not a general rule; every story is unique.

But I find it interesting to observe that this guilt often arises even before the other person has reacted, as if, ultimately, the mere act of imagining saying “no” were enough to cause discomfort. This may explain why some people agree immediately… only to regret their answer a few minutes later.

“I’m afraid people won’t love me anymore if I say no.”

This sentence is rarely phrased so directly, but I find it very often underlying my patients’ stories.

Of course, few people consciously believe that a simple refusal will end a relationship. On the other hand, many fear that it will change how the other person sees them—that they’ll be seen as less kind, less available, less generous, or simply less likable.

I find that this fear is important to acknowledge because it shows that the difficulty in saying no isn’t just about setting a boundary—it often touches on the relationship itself.

When the stakes become about preserving the connection, it becomes much easier to understand why some people keep saying yes… even when it causes them pain.

“I always feel like others come before me.”

When we dig deeper into what this means in practice, the answers are often similar:

• one person cancels an important appointment because a coworker needs her,

• another person systematically agrees to her family’s requests, even when she’s exhausted,

• a third never takes the time to think about what they really want, because they’re already thinking about the needs of others.

Over time, these people sometimes end up no longer knowing what they want for themselves. This is probably the most painful consequence. By constantly asking ourselves what would make others happy, we can gradually lose touch with our own needs. I don’t believe these people are fundamentally altruistic in the sense that they would never want to say no.

On the contrary, they often feel a great deal of frustration, but this frustration remains unspoken. It sometimes manifests in other ways: through exhaustion, irritability, resentment, or even the feeling of being constantly overwhelmed.

It’s often at this point that they seek therapy—not because they don’t know how to say no, but because they no longer understand why they have such a hard time thinking of themselves without feeling guilty.

For therapists, behind the boundary often lies a sense of self:

When I work with a patient on this issue, I try not to reduce the difficulty to a lack of assertiveness.

Instead, I ask myself:

What does saying “yes” mean to this person?

For some, it’s a way of being a “good son,” a “good mother,” a “good spouse,” or a “good colleague.” For others, it’s a way to maintain a connection or avoid conflict. In other words, the behavior is often rooted in a deeply ingrained belief about what the person thinks they must be in order to be loved or accepted. Exploring this belief often seems more helpful to me than teaching the patient assertive communication techniques. If the fear remains, techniques alone are rarely enough.

Can you learn to say no?

I’m a bit skeptical of the promises you see on certain websites: “In five steps, finally learn to say no.”

In practice, things are rarely that simple.

I don’t believe that saying “no” is something you learn the same way you learn a foreign language. However, I do believe that you can gradually come to understand why that word is so hard to say—and that understanding alone already makes a big difference.

I often notice that once a person identifies what they’re truly afraid of—disappointing someone, being rejected, causing a conflict, or losing someone’s affection—their reactions become more understandable.

They gradually stop telling themselves, “I’m incapable,” and start asking, “What am I trying to protect when I say yes?”

I find this question much more fruitful because it shifts the perspective.

We’re no longer just trying to change a behavior, but to understand what makes it necessary. That’s often the starting point for change. It’s not because the patient suddenly decides to say no to everyone, but because they begin to feel that they, too, have a place in the relationship.

Saying no doesn’t make you a bad person

There’s often some confusion here: many people still associate setting a boundary with a lack of kindness. Ultimately, it’s as if saying no inevitably means being selfish, harsh, or indifferent to others. Yet setting a boundary isn’t the same as rejecting the other person.

It’s simply acknowledging that your own needs exist as well. This idea seems obvious when you read it, but it’s much less so when you’ve spent years believing that your worth depends on your availability, your ability to help, or never being a bother.

I’ve never met a patient who told me:

“I love saying yes so much that it makes me happy.”

On the other hand, I meet many who tell me:

“I say yes to avoid feeling guilty.”

The distinction is important. In one case, it’s a choice; in the other, an internal compulsion.

It is precisely this freedom that therapeutic work gradually seeks to restore.

In conclusion, I don’t think that people who have a hard time saying no simply lack self-confidence. That little word carries far more weight than it seems.

Saying no can mean risking disappointment, causing conflict, changing the image we think we project to others, or calling into question a way of relating to others that has been established over a long period of time.

This is also why advice such as “you just need to assert yourself” often leaves people feeling like they’ve failed. Such advice focuses on behavior without always taking the time to understand what makes it so difficult.

In my view, therapeutic work is less about learning to say no and more about helping a person gradually reclaim the right to take their place in the relationship, without feeling like they have to choose between themselves and others.

I believe that it is often at this point that “no” ceases to be experienced as a threat. It simply becomes a way of respecting one’s own boundaries, while continuing to nurture one’s relationships.