The season of saying 'no'

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It was a beautiful snowy day, a rare thing in Vancouver, and it was almost Christmas. I felt energetic and pumped up while doing all of the Christmas shopping, decorating the house and volunteering. It is the season of giving, after all.

But my breathing was becoming harder and my asthma was getting worse. I tried to dismiss all the symptoms. "It's just a cold," I thought. "I just have to pull myself together and see the doctor after the holiday."

On Christmas morning, happiness was all around me, but I was tired, and I wondered if I should have turned down a few of those earlier holiday engagements.

It was almost 6 in the morning on Boxing Day when I woke up my husband. "Isn't it too early to hit the shops? The sale can wait," he mumbled.

"I need to go to the ER now!" I said.

Inside the ER, seeing how laboured my breathing was, the nurses rushed me in. Between having tests done, getting hooked up to oxygen and taking medication, I lost track of time.

Eventually, the doctor told me I had severe pneumonia that caused permanent damage to my lungs. He asked why I took so long to seek help.

"I had so many things to do," I answered feebly. I was then told that from now on I will have some breathing issues and my asthma will probably feel worse.

I was discharged from the hospital after a few days, but I was still not quite myself.

Yet I pushed myself to be normal. Deep down, I felt guilty for being sick and unable to do activities with my children for fear of exercise triggering my asthma.

I began filling my calendar again.

I didn't say no to anything or anyone.

I wanted to be the perfect parent, the perfect mother and the perfect wife because perfection was what I knew and what I aspired to.

In order to balance the scale (at least in my head) I accepted whatever was thrown at me, whether it was volunteering at my children's school, attending events with friends, going on family outings or other activities.

I felt it was my responsibility to make sure everyone around me was happy and that everyone would see me as the strong person I always was, even though I didn't feel it inside.

I kept pushing myself because this was the only way I knew.

My to-do list was getting longer. My sleepless nights were getting more frequent. I felt that I was always in a race against time. If I declined an event, I instantly felt guilty.

Then, my body broke.

I was dehydrated, anemic and emotionally drained. Still, as I was sitting in the doctor's waiting room, I replied "Sure I can!" to a request by my daughter's teacher to help with driving a few kids around.

It was then that I decided maybe this "yes" thing wasn't the right approach.

Why do I feel guilty saying no? Why do I need to explain myself or give excuses?

And it hit me: The problem was the notion that "yes" opens opportunities. Being a "yes" person makes you lovable and sociable. But "yes" was depleting me; "yes" was making me unhappy.

In the movie Yes Man, Jim Carrey's character transforms his life by saying "yes" to whatever comes his way.

In contrast, I adopted the "no" theory. I took off my watch for good. I no longer scheduled two activities on the same day, and I tell everyone, "No, I can't," without giving a reason or explaining myself.

I applied the "no" theory to everything: No more using my credit card to buy stuff I don't need. No more searching endlessly for the perfect gift for every occasion. I stick to gift cards or money so I won't drive myself nuts.

Even on social media, I stopped the urge to comment on anything that puts me in a useless argument, I removed every person on my feed who was negative, I said no to anything that brings me down.

Then I made a list with things I want to do, things I feel obliged to do, what makes me happy and what stresses me out.

Whatever is asked from me, I go back to that list.

No more pushing my limits to prove to others, or myself, no more trying to feel equal to other parents.

Saying "no" has changed my life. I only do what I feel like doing. I don't push myself to fit in. I've become comfortable in my own skin.

I can't say it was easy. Now that I'm a "no" person, some friends thought I was trying to avoid them, others felt I was becoming depressed or anti-social.

I was even told I was rude became I don't try to beautify my response now. Some even said it to my face. Saying no really showed me who is a real friend and who only needs you around to help.

No became my normal. No gave me freedom to be myself and time to do more of the things I love.

The balance between yes and no has helped me find peace.

Of course I still say yes, especially when the question is "Do you want to order pizza?" or "Do you want more vodka?"

Hell yes.

Karen Habashi lives in Langley, B.C.