I pride myself on my honesty, but there's one area in which I let myself down. It's when I mean to say, "No" but end up saying "Yes" instead. I hate myself for it, not so much for the dishonesty of it, but because I know that my reason for lying is to be agreeable, not to hurt someone's feelings, not to make a big thing out of "it".
The problem is that the "it" usually refers to my own needs. I'm not talking about the white lies where, when someone asks me, "Do I look nice in this?" I answer with a yes, even though I think they look awful/fat/ridiculous. I mean the times when someone asks me to go somewhere or do something that I don't really want to do, and I say yes knowing full well that I ought to be replying with a sentence that includes the phrase "over my dead body".
I thought about this last night, when a long-lost friend invited me to dinner and I said yes. She has a dog. I have a phobia of dogs. It's not going to happen. I know that. But I still said yes.
Why do I do this? I'm not a child who has to keep the grown-ups happy. Half my life is over (maybe more, but I hope not). And yet here I am after all this time, menopausal and saggy, and still feeling the need to please, and NOT seeing that I have the right to say No. Regardless of whether it is a reasonable No, or an illogical phobia-induced No, it is still my right to say it: No.
I like to think that after years of therapy and introspection and self-work, I have learned to say No to a lot of things: dangerous thing, abusive things, things that I consider immoral or unethical. But yesterday's struggle to say No tells me I still don't consider myself fully worthy of that right.
The other day while reading, I came across something a child sex offender said about one of his victims: I killed who she might have been.
I need to work harder on my resurrection.