When You Hear "No"...Who Tells You What It Means?

Somewhere in your life there is a no you never questioned.

Someone drew a line, or you assumed one, and you stepped back from it without ever testing whether it would hold.

I want to tell you about a woman who tested hers.

First and second go to the finals. Third gets a wildcard. Fourth goes home.

Those were the rules when Michelle Weger competed in the Speaker Slam semi-finals in Toronto this summer.

Michelle came fourth. So she went home, crushed. That should have been the end of it.

But I keep coming back to that word. Should.

The rules told Michelle what happened to the person who came fourth. They did not tell her what she was allowed to ask for. Then she remembered something she tells other people all the time. You have to ask for what you want.

So she sent a message that began, "I know this is a long shot."

The sentence with the fear still in it

Read that opening line again. I know this is a long shot.

The fear is still there. Michelle knew she might hear no. She knew asking could feel awkward. She could already imagine how she might look if they turned her down.

Fred, that well-meaning protector who lives in your brain, knows this sentence well. He points out the rejection before you get anywhere near it. He reminds you what humiliation feels like. He knows your history because you have walked through this whole life together. His concern is real.

Listen carefully now. His prediction is not a ruling.

Michelle didn't wait for the fear to disappear. She heard the warning and remembered who she wanted to be. She was a woman who asked for what she wanted.

That is what courage is. Not the fear gone quiet. Something you want more, standing up beside the fear and outweighing it.

Then she took the step. She pressed send.

They said yes. Michelle walked into the finals as the only person in the lineup who hadn't placed.

And she won. What if you decided to try one more time?

The quiet settling

Most no's don't have a trophy waiting on the other side. Somebody tells us no once, or we decide we already know what the answer will be, and we make a note in the file we keep on ourselves.

Not my lane.

Not for someone like me.

Not this time, and probably not the next one either.

After a few years, we can give a hundred good reasons why the timing still isn't right. That's the part that unsettles me. And, to be honest, breaks my heart.

Where does clear thinking end and protecting ourselves begin?

When do we stop knocking? Stop putting our name forward?

We call it being realistic, because being realistic is easier to say out loud than, "I'm afraid I'll be rejected."

The settling can look so much like maturity that nobody questions it. Including us.

I've spent more than a decade sitting with capable women at this place. Few of them had ever gone back and tested the ruling. Instead of setting something that mattered more beside that fear of rejection, they were still living underneath it.

The step came before the win

Of course the title mattered to Michelle. It was the horizon she had prepared for, practised for and wanted badly. What mattered even more was that winning would carry her voice further than she could carry it on her own.

So she asked again. Not because the fear had left. Because what she wanted was louder than the fear of hearing no.

Michelle didn't become courageous when the organizers said yes. The courage came earlier. It happened when she pressed send without knowing what they would say.

Her Tiny Brave Step was a message. It took less than a minute. And it would still have counted if the answer had been no.

The yes was the outcome. The evidence had nothing to do with the outcome.

She heard Fred cautioning her that she could be rejected.

She decided who she wanted to be.

She asked.

That evidence became hers the moment she pressed send.

Sixty-three times

I know this because I've lived the other version.

I wanted to give a TEDx talk. I took the course. I paid real money for it. I practised with two peers who were both selected to give theirs. I memorized mine word for word, with no notes, which frightened me more than I can tell you.

So I applied. Sixty-three times. Sixty-three no's.

Why? Because, to me, what was important was that my message was heard. And this could be an amazing way to put it out there.

I'm glad I did, and I won't turn this into a lesson about never giving up. Those no's hurt. But every application asked something of me. I had to keep speaking, keep practising, keep putting my ideas in front of people when my confidence shook.

I still carry what I built that year.

Then, one day I decided I was finished applying. The no's didn't make that decision. I did.

Stopping was not a verdict someone handed me. It was my choice. That, too, was evidence I could trust myself. Proof that I knocked until the door was truly closed.

Not their door. Mine.

Who holds the pen

Michelle asked once and received a yes. I asked sixty-three times and received sixty-three no's.

Her yes didn't make her courageous. My no's didn't make me a failure. The answer belonged to someone else. The decision to ask belonged to us.

Michelle could say, "I am a woman who asks."

I could say, "I am a woman who asks and keeps deciding for herself."

That is the evidence. Not the yes. Not the trophy. Not the sixty-three no's. The Tiny Brave Step you take while the answer is still unknown.

One small thing

Think of one door you stopped knocking on because somebody once said no. Or because you assumed the answer and never asked.

Don't knock yet.

Write the sentence you would send if you decided to ask again. One or two lines. Nothing more. You're only finding out whether the words exist.

That is one Tiny Brave Step. I can name what I want without knowing what will happen. Whether you send the message is a separate decision, and that decision belongs to you.

If you want help choosing the next step, take this prompt to the Tiny Brave Steps Generator:

There is a door I stopped knocking on after one no. Help me choose one Tiny Brave Step toward asking again.

And if you want a place to take that step, our Creative Spaces Zoom room gives you room to do it and to notice the evidence you built. There's no cost. It is simply a room where women discover their own hidden courage, one Tiny Brave Step at a time, alongside others doing the same.