My dopamine levels are low. I am not a doctor. This is based on my difficulty sleeping, my mood sinking, and how I am hibernating from my family a wee bit. It has been a weird week; The world feels a bit more unsafe.

I have a tool kit for these seasons. I walked, ate well, and booked a nail appointment.

Getting a complete set of nails requires gluing tips, which start long and pointy. The glue sets, and the nail tech makes the first cut and then asks about the client’s preference for length.

I want to say to my nail tech, “Well, I hope to be able to use my phone and do up my jacket before I leave, so it should be short enough for me to be able to do those things.”

But instead, I vaguely asked her to cut them shorter. Cutting a sliver away, she showed me her work. Undoubtedly, the nails would still cause grievous harm.

By this time, I had noticed gnawing discomfort in my gut.

I don’t want her to feel corrected again because I prefer them much shorter. I push through the initial discomfort and say, “Hmm, a little shorter, please.”

She took another sliver off and, for the third time, showed me the mini daggers on the ends of my fingers. I wanted them shorter. Instead, I nodded, smiled, and said, “Thank you; they look great.” They did not look great.

Leaving the salon, I was a risk to scratch the grandchildren or accidentally poking their eyes out. It would be no surprise that I could not zip up my jacket!

I said thank you for the nails that were too long! It was a small request to ask the nail tech to cut them shorter, but I could not assert my will. I was already too tired and on edge to deal with whatever internal distress might come with saying what was true for me. Instead, I put what I wanted aside and weirdly protected the nail tech from having to cut my nails again. I could not find my no.

I was frustrated and filed my nails down as soon as I got home. I know why I couldn’t ask the nail tech what I wanted. I felt embarrassed and didn’t want to be a difficult client. I was lacking the emotional resourcing necessary to sit in that discomfort.

I know others who have difficulty saying no. It is not uncommon. You might see yourself in these vignettes:

You say yes to watching a movie that doesn’t interest you to eating at a restaurant, but you don’t enjoy the food. You won’t send food back that isn’t what you ordered. You hesitate to share your thoughts in a conversation, and your friends believe your silence means you agree.

Why is exercising our right to say no or share our thoughts so challenging?

Because it is risky, we have a deep emotional need for connection. We might fear losing connection if we are disagreeable, so we change our behaviour to maintain relationships. We might tell ourselves we are flexible or adaptable when, in reality, it is a protective and safe response.

Saying no to someone is a risk, so we set aside our preferences to privilege the needs, wants and desires of others. We might be quick to agree and even quicker to say sorry.

Love and worth are conditional for individuals who tend to show up as people pleasers. They risk losing love if others see them as demanding or hard to please. Being seen as fussy or picky is too distressing.

If this is the core self’s experience, no wonder asserting likes, dislikes, and preferences becomes so difficult.

As with any protective response, this management strategy — people-pleasing — is emotionally costly. Hard-core people-pleasers may lose touch with what is true for them- what brings them joy, calm and delight.

Historically, I know this place well; it is familiar to be unsure of what I liked, what I believed or who I was. This lifelong work connects me to who I am at my core. I have found safe relationships to express what I need and want.

The experience reminds me to be gentle with the parts of myself that become activated when I feel depleted and to avoid the old practice of pushing aside what I know is true.

Maybe, like me, you feel the weight of the last 200 days of January, and my hope is that you take good care of how that is showing up on the inside.