Once upon a time, in a land ruled by Polite Smiles and Tightly Folded Hands, there lived a woman who had given everything.
She had given her time to tasks she didn’t believe in.
She had given her beauty to rooms that never truly saw her.
She had given her voice to keep the peace.
And most of all, she had given her Yes to every hand that reached for it,
as if it belonged to everyone but her.
They called her kind.
They called her easy to work with.
They called her so selfless.
And for a while, she believed this was love.
But one day, her body refused to rise from bed.
Her right side ached with ancient ache.
Her feet throbbed with the weight of a thousand unwanted steps.
Her joints, her breath, her bones… all whispered: No more.
So she wandered into the forest—not to escape, but to listen.
There, beneath a canopy of golden leaves, she stumbled upon a strange little altar.
Stone, worn smooth. A single candle flickering atop it.
And carved deeply across its front, just one word: NO.
She laughed at first. Thought perhaps she was dreaming.
But the flame danced. The silence deepened.
And something in her—the part that had never been asked what she wanted—
began to weep.
So she knelt.
Not in defeat, but in reclamation.
She placed her hands together and whispered to the altar:
“I’m sorry I abandoned you.
I thought being good meant saying yes.
I thought being loved meant disappearing.”The altar did not scold her.
It glowed.
From that day on, she returned often.
She brought every new request to the altar.
And if her body tensed, if her chest tightened, if her breath shortened…
she would bow low and say: “No, thank you.”
She began to walk differently.
Slower. Brighter.
She didn’t explain herself anymore.
Some left her.
But the ones who stayed began to soften too.
They built their own altars—of No, of Not Yet, of Only If It Feels True.
And slowly, a new kind of village formed.
Not built on sacrifice.
But on sovereignty.
And though many still bowed to the gods of Hustle and Approval,
whenever they wandered too far from themselves,
they would feel a pull toward the forest…
And there, lit by the flicker of a single candle,
they would find a woman at her altar—
smiling.
Stillness in her spine.
And a quiet, holy fire rising from the word she no longer feared to say.
NO.
