There’s a version of this story I almost didn’t share.

Not because it’s dramatic…but because it reveals something I didn’t want to admit about myself.

👉 I didn’t have a boundary problem. I had a self-abandonment pattern.

A Note from PJ

There was a time in my life when I didn’t know how to say no, so I just kept saying yes… and hoping I could manage whatever came with it.

I was a single mom, and I was doing everything I could to do it right. Work all day, be present for Kyle, and make sure he never felt the absence I knew all too well growing up. After work, it was our time, walks to the park, movies on the weekend (his favorites, always his favorites). I didn’t have extra time. I didn’t have extra energy. And I definitely didn’t have time to be dating.

But apparently… that didn’t matter.

Because it was like every single man at work woke up one day and decided, “She’s available.”

I didn’t feel available. I felt tired. But I also didn’t know how to say no. So when Leroy asked me out… I said yes.

Now let me tell you about Leroy.

Leroy was energetic. Not just a little energetic; fisty, passionate, full-body talking Leroy. The kind of man who didn’t just ask you to dinner… he performed it. Flowers. A full speech. My coworkers watching like it was dinner theater. And there I stood thinking, Well, I can’t say no now… because what would that look like?

So I smiled. And I said yes.

He picked me up that night wearing a tie. A tie. This man worked in the warehouse, jeans, work shirt, every day. And now? A tie. So I thought, Oh… this must be serious. Maybe dinner, maybe something fancy… maybe even an opera.

Nope. Italian food.

And Leroy was just as passionate about his spaghetti as he was about everything else. Slurping, talking, gesturing with his fork like he was conducting an orchestra. And at one point… the sauce splattered. On me. More than once.

I remember sitting there thinking, This goodbye is going to be a problem.

Because the energy had already shifted.

And then he leaned in and said, “I could just lick that right off…”

I froze… and then I laughed, because that’s what I did. “Now Leroy… you silly goose.” Like that somehow made it better. But he wasn’t joking. And now I had googly eyes staring at me over a plate of spaghetti.

At that point, I wasn’t enjoying dinner, I was planning my exit. Get through dinner. Get to the car. Get home. So as we walked out, I started laying the groundwork. “I’ve got to pick Kyle up…” “It’s getting late…” “His aunt’s probably waiting…” planting exit signs like my life depended on it.

He opened the car door for me… and then leaned in. Smelled my hair. And said, “You’re intoxicating…”

I blinked.

Then he asked, “Where does Kyle sleep?”

Now I don’t even know what that question meant… but I knew I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

We got to my apartment, and before I could even process what was happening, it felt like he jumped on me, whispering things in my ear, reaching, too close, too much. And something in me finally said, Enough.

I pushed him off.

“I am not like that, Leroy. Did you really think that of me?”

He looked shocked. Hurt. Of course he said no. But as I stood there, buttoning my blouse, because when exactly had that come undone? Something shifted.

Not in him. In me.

Because I had spent so much time trying not to hurt anyone else’s feelings… that I had completely ignored my own.

I had said yes when I meant no. I had laughed when I felt uncomfortable. I had stayed when I wanted to leave.

And standing there in that parking lot, talking to him like a disappointed mother, I realized something I couldn’t unsee:

This wasn’t about Leroy.

This was about me.

About how easy I had made it to be chosen… and how hard it had been to choose myself.

He was embarrassed. Quiet. Didn’t say much after that. And he never spoke to me again. I guess the roses and spaghetti didn’t quite lead where he thought they would.

But that wasn’t the part that stayed with me.

It was what happened when I walked inside.

Back when answering machines were a thing, I pressed “play” and just stood there. Message after message started rolling in.

“Hey… what are you doing tonight?”
“You want to come over?”
“Let’s grab dinner sometime…”

Different voices. Same energy.

I stood there counting.

Twelve.

Twelve messages… from twelve different men.

And I remember just staring at that machine like… What is happening?

Because none of it matched how I saw myself. I didn’t feel irresistible. I didn’t feel pursued.

I felt… available.

And that realization didn’t feel good.

Because it took me back to something I hadn’t thought about in years.

High school.

A boy once told me he preferred girls like me; nice, cute, approachable, over the “gorgeous cheerleaders.” Not because he liked me more, but because he wasn’t afraid I’d say no.

And standing there, listening to those messages replay in my living room, it hit me.

Maybe that hadn’t changed. Not because of them. But because of me.

Because the truth was… I didn’t just struggle to say no to dates.

I struggled to say no to anything.

I didn’t want to hurt feelings. I didn’t want to reject people. I didn’t want to be misunderstood.

So instead… I made myself easy to choose.

Even when I was exhausted. Even when I wasn’t interested. Even when something deep inside me whispered, “You don’t want this.”

I overrode it.

Because saying yes felt easier than explaining no.

And somewhere in all of that… I wasn’t just giving away my time. I was giving away pieces of myself.

Not dramatically. Not obviously.

Quietly.

A yes I didn’t mean. A smile I didn’t feel. A version of me that wasn’t fully there.

And I didn’t call it anything back then.

I called it being nice.

But now… I can see it clearly.

I wasn’t being kind. I was abandoning myself… in small, socially acceptable ways.

And that realization didn’t change everything overnight. But it did something important.

It made me pause.

It made me notice that moment… right before I answered.

And for the first time, I started asking:

👉 Do I actually want this?
👉 Do I even have the energy for this?

And slowly… not perfectly… I started choosing differently.

Not all at once.

But enough… to begin finding my way back to myself.

One moment. One boundary. One honest no… into who I was becoming.

And if you want to hear conversations that go deeper into this kind of shift, the full podcast episode is here → YouTube Channel

Comment and tell me, have you ever said yes when you meant no?