When 'what if' becomes 'whatever'

Saying yes when you know you should say no. Part I.

September 5th, 2009. A just-turned-24 year old Nadia is walking down the aisle to meet the man who she thinks is the love of her life.
But her body knows. Her body is talking to her and is telling her no. But I am not listening because I don’t trust my body.
And that mistrust led to 10 long years of lessons and suffering. A school I am thankful for now. Even though sometimes I cannot help but wonder who I would have become if I had trusted myself earlier. What doors I would have walked through…

I digress.

I remember we went to couples therapy, that was leading us in circles. Therapy only works if you are being honest with yourself and your therapist. It only works if your therapist challenges you and doesn’t cuddle you.

After a few months our therapist went on bereavement because sadly, she had a very late miscarriage. And we had to stop seeing her.
I moved out 3 months later.
I remember thinking how that lost baby was like a metaphor for our dead relationship. It was time to let go.

Saying yes when you know you should say no. Part II.

We had to move in together, it was too late to back out now. Because we had been house hunting for 5 months, because we were friends, because we had committed to doing it. And because when I gently suggested that maybe we should go separate ways, she was upset and offended.

She was my friend and I cared about her. I didn’t want to disappoint her. But truth is, on a deeper level, I wanted to be loved. Because I can’t stand the thought that someone out there walks around thinking badly of me. Having an image of me that I think is ‘wrong’.
Attachment 101.

So I went through with it. Moved in with my friend even though my body said no. Only to move out again 3 months later because betraying myself felt like dying. And now I am much quicker at recognising when I do that and at least stand up and leave a few months in, instead of marinating in it for a decade.

Saying yes when you should say no. Part III.

We had tried once before, and I heard the voice but I gave it a go anyway. Then ended it, then tried again. It was my first relationship after my marriage.

This time around I am more aware of everything and I am honest about it and I still want to try. Because I trust myself but I mistrust my trauma and I struggle to separate the two.

And then the summer came and it was oh so beautiful. I dove straight in, head first, I decided to go in both feet this time, no holding back. I thought he would too. He pulls away, very subtly, undetectable at first, if you don’t pay attention. He asks if I am happy.

I read that sometimes couples need time to find themselves together, need to find a rhythm. I don’t really plan on ending it.

But I also hear that voice again. That soft, firm voice.

No.

It’s the same voice from that day in 2009. I think that was the first time I consciously heard her.
I know her.
Simple and clear.
There is no rational explanation when she speaks, even though by now I have a lot of ‘rational and good points’. But she was saying it all along.

I wait, month after month, because this one feels different from my marriage. This one has so many good things about it.

Then I have to learn that something can be good but still not right for you.

And my heart breaks. And his heart breaks.

I learn that when you say no because it is the right thing, you are fully considering the possibility that you might regret it one day. And that surprisingly, I was ok with that.

Saying no is as powerful as saying yes. The tricky part is figuring out when to say what. But here is what I believe now:
most of the time there isn’t really a right or wrong.

Any path you take can turn out to be something good. And if it isn’t, you can still make something out of the choice you made.

No matter what road you take, no choice is a life sentence, no path is final - you can always change and if something is really for you, it will find you, even if it takes a few detours. I believe that to be true.

It’s easy to beat myself up for all the times I have acted against my intuition. Then I look at the times I actually said yes when I also felt a yes and no when I felt a no, I look at how much faster I catch myself now when I don’t honour myself. I think about how proud that 24 year old would be of me and the way she has learned to listen and trust more.

I accept now that sometimes you just have to embody an experience in order to make a decision.
It’s ok if you need a bit more evidence to feel secure because you are still learning. Your intuition is softly nudging you - but now the data you have collected is supporting you too.
Because there is another side to the coin: sometimes our trauma does in fact sabotage good things, and when you are working your way through that trauma it takes a few attempts to get it right. To not run from the good stuff. To recognise what is intuition and what is in fact trauma.
So it’s ok to try.

Part of why I don’t trust myself sometimes is I am scared of the unknown that comes with it. The blank scary nothingness, the wide open anything is possible. It’s exhilarating as it is frightening.

Emptiness can feel both heavy and freeing.

But every no is also a yes. Yes to honouring yourself, yes to new opportunities, yes to healthier choices, yes to growth, yes to new connections, yes to new lessons, yes to becoming more of yourself.

It’s the bittersweet paradox of doing what is right even when it hurts.

The before always feels foggy, dark and scary.

The after feels clear, sharp and liberating.

It sounds like the space around you is breathing.

It sounds like peace.

It feels like touching the texture of your courage.

One of the most beautiful lessons of the last year has been turning my ‘what if’s’ into ‘whatever’.

Not the ‘whatever, I don’t care’ but rather ‘whatever happens, whatever choice I make, as long as I am honest with myself and others it will lead me to where I need to be.’

It’s another step in the healing journey, when ‘what if’ is no longer a decision making factor. I am not leading with fear but with faith. In nobody else but myself.