From a young age, I was the girl who couldn’t say no. Nice girls like me, it seems, always accommodate. I remember saying yes in class, while crammed in the backseat of the school bus as papers swirled above us. I said yes during sleepovers at my friend’s house, nestled inside my Care Bears sleeping bag. I even said yes to boys with awkward haircuts and pocket protectors, as well as to my short, elderly English teacher who wore suntan pantyhose. Yes was my go-to answer, whether it was to cashiers, neighbors, or even a nun in the church basement.
It all started in middle school—or maybe even earlier. At first glance, I didn’t seem like the classic “yes-girl.” I was just a blonde kid with a frizzy hairstyle, clad in red tights and an acid-wash jean skirt. I had friends, mostly from the band, and I smiled a lot while eagerly raising my hand to answer questions I knew. Maybe I was smart enough, but I wasn’t a straight-A student. I loved to make people laugh, often a bit too loudly, and I was simply…nice.
However, I harbored a darker secret, one that lingers with me even today: I couldn’t—and still can’t—bring myself to say no. It’s not that I can’t pronounce the word “no.” I can articulate it easily. I can toss it around in casual conversation: “No way! Did you really just tell me that the thrift store has everything half off tomorrow? No!” I can even yell it at my reflection when I’m alone: “NO! I SAID NO!” Yet, when it comes to babysitting your pet parakeet with Tourette’s Syndrome while you hike in Mozambique for four months? You bet I’ll say yes.
If Mr. Peepers only eats organic mango leather, which I have to make by driving three hours each week and chewing it up myself, of course I’ll do it. And yes, I’ll happily call you daily at 2 AM Eastern Time just so he can chirp you a morning tune of “On Top of the World.”
If saying yes is a disease, I’m a terminal case with absolutely no cure in sight. Trust me, I’ve searched high and low. No self-help audio program could ever help me break my pattern of excessive yes-ing. I often ponder how much of this compulsion stems from the societal pressures placed on women like me (29 years old on my last six birthdays). From an early age, we were told we could have it all—a career, a family, love, and everything in between. We were given endless opportunities, but no one ever suggested scaling back on expectations.
When we voiced ambitions like wanting to be President, our parents beamed and said, “Yes, you can!” But as we grew older, the questions changed: “Do you have a boyfriend? When are you getting married?” We learned quickly that nice girls say “yes.” Even if our first word was “no,” we soon understood that “yes” brought smiles, cookies, and affection. Saying yes meant we wouldn’t disappoint anyone.
Imagine being five years old, wearing knee socks and Mary Janes, and your neighbor asks if you like kindergarten. Deep down, you want to shout, “No, it stinks!” But instead, you nod and smile because you know that’s what she wants to hear.
As for me, I haven’t found a solution to my dilemma, but I hold out hope for the next generation. I’m raising my daughter to understand that it’s perfectly acceptable to say no. It’s a challenging lesson, especially when she often says no to me. But I don’t want her to inherit my struggle.
How many women around my age are grappling with the same issue? I know there are others out there, saying yes to chairing the Book Fair or yes to that convincing hairdresser with the 1980s mullet, simply because they felt obligated. How many are stuck feeding chewed mango to a parakeet they never wanted, just because they never learned that it’s okay to say no?
In truth, the world will keep spinning, and we’ll still be loved, even if, just this once, the nice girl says no.
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Summary
In “Nice Girls Always Say Yes,” Emily Johnson reflects on her lifelong struggle with saying no, stemming from the societal pressures faced by women. Despite her desire to please others, she aims to raise her daughter to understand the importance of asserting herself and saying no when necessary. The article highlights the complexities of female expectations and the importance of self-advocacy.