The Power of Saying No: How Immigrants Learn to Protect Themselves from Endless Gratitude

My dearest incurable humanist,

In Latin America, or at least in Venezuela, it is hard to say “no.” I lived in Mexico for a while and, in my experience, it was the same. I think it is considered bad manners or rude or something. Even here in New York, I feel that sometimes people still expect women to say yes and agree and nod politely. I have found that everything tends to go smoothly when you agree and say yes to everything. Yet when something happens that crosses a limit and you say “no,” you automatically turn into some sort of ungrateful, pretentious villain.​

Saying “no” and establishing “healthy boundaries” is something I’ve worked on extensively in therapy. As an immigrant, first given the opportunity to work in Mexico City and then in New York, I didn’t know how to establish healthy boundaries. Gratitude became a currency, and I thought I was always in debt that I felt I had to pay with endless availability. Once, on Christmas morning, I ran an errand for a boss, eager to be indispensable, to be the “good” employee, “the grateful immigrant who understands that opportunities are fragile”; talk about people‑pleasing. But in those moments, your mind doesn’t go to an objective “I struggle with boundaries” mindset. You think that by refusing you are self‑centered, mean, a bad friend, or ungrateful if you are anything less than endlessly accommodating.​

There was a breaking point last year in which to say “no” and establish a boundary was the only feasible alternative, because the other option would have been a transgression against myself. Even though there was a lot at risk by refusing, and I did in fact end up having to start over in many ways, looking back I would not have done it any other way because it was a lesson I needed to learn.

I don’t mean that you shouldn’t be helpful or that by establishing these boundaries you should be arrogant. It is okay to prioritize yourself. After all, what is a self, if not a boundary? To say “I” is to draw a line. In the culture I come from, that line is blurry. We share food, time, emergencies, sorrows, and we answer the phone at midnight. Growing up, I absorbed an ethic of self‑sacrifice as a feminine virtue. Good women, good daughters, give more than they have and apologize when they finally collapse. To say “no” is somehow an act of moral disobedience.​

These days, I try to practice this in small ways. Leave the message on read until I have the bandwidth or energy to respond. Say, “I wish I could, but I can’t make it tonight,” and then resist the urge to add a three‑paragraph apology. Notice the familiar spike of fear—What if they’re angry? What if they revoke the opportunity? What if they love me less?

Healthy boundaries are, at their core, a form of self‑protection. Somewhere between the Venezuelan “yes” that costs me my health and the American “no” that can cost us our sense of community, I am trying to find a livable balance. For now, though, I am leaning toward no as an act of preservation

Until next week.