Knowing When to Say Yes, Family Reunion Style

How the three questions you get asked at the reunion can help you discern when to say yes and when to say no

I have over a decade practicing the habit of saying no. This has not been an easy thing. Like many good Christian girls, I was not taught to say no. I grew up in an authoritarian culture where parental skill is often judged based upon how quickly and obediently children respond to adults’ commands. If my mother called my name, I had better say “yes” even as I was making my way down the hall to her.

Soon after embarking on my self-care journey, I realized that my frequent yeses to others were major barriers to caring for myself, that every yes I said was a no to something else. If I said yes to teaching an overload, taking on another thesis student, joining another committee, it usually came at the cost of my self-care. I had to learn to say no to others so that I could say yes to myself. Saying no is a skill that I have developed in stages: learning to delay my yes, practicing ways of politely saying no, saying no without guilt and apology, and most recently, making no my default response.

I’m at the point in my career where invitations far outpace my capacity, which means I have to make more granular decisions about which invitations are more worthwhile for me. Plus, being a two-time breast cancer survivor makes me hyper-aware of my finitude and choosy about who I spend my time with. It turns out that there’s no wisdom like old wisdom, especially when it’s been crafted by Black elders. So nowadays, my decision-making process boils down to three questions that you’d hear at a Black family reunion.

Question #1: Baby, who your mama?

This is a question about lineage. It’s an especially critical question for Christian organizations because, well, many of them are racist, sexist, and all-around toxic. I want to know something about need to know the journey that an organization is on and how my presence might contribute to that journey. I’m not coming just so you can check off your diversity quota (which means I’m hella suspect of predominantly White organizations that invite me to show up in February when they’ve done nothing else related to racism). I need to know who your people are and who it is that we have in common. Are we close kin or are you crashing the reunion, talmbout “Remember me, I’m cousin Pete?” You can be a fourth cousin twice removed (whatever that means) but I need to know what branch of the family tree you came in on.

Question #2: Who all gon’ be there?

This is about audience and leadership. Because I limit my engagements, I prioritize groups whose makeup and mission are most closely aligned to my passions: congregations and ministries that are led by and oriented to Black people and other people of color; historically Black colleges and universities; social justice organizations; women of color in ministry; chaplains, therapists, and other helping professionals; organizations that support writing by people of color; and groups that I have a personal connection with (like my alma maters). Almost anything beyond that is getting a no unless it has opportunity for considerable impact. And I’m not just talking about my impact on the audience. But wait, that gets to the final question.

Question #3: What we eatin’?

This is about what they want me to do and how they’re going to compensate me for it. My appetite and needs have changed. I’m no longer the young woman who hesitated when the Bennigan’s waiter told me that upgrading to onion rings would cost an extra dollar. Nowadays when the definitely-not-Bennigans waiter informs me that the upgrade costs extra, I give them a “thanks, but I didn’t ask you that” look. Yet that doesn’t stop organizations from trying to offer me casual dining honoraria for five-star quality work (just wait til I award myself a Michelin star). I need to know that I’m going to somehow be nourished by my work. There are a rare few organizations where the population itself is nourishing, specifically BIPOC-led and -oriented progressive Christian gatherings where I’m likely to see a lot of my friends and be challenged by speakers that I deeply admire (this is the only time that hugs are currency). There are also groups I highly value that have limited budgets and whom I want my work to benefit (these are primarily historically Black organizations). But the further an organization gets from my passion projects and populations, the more my nourishment needs to be financial. I’m an introvert and a homebody. Make it worth me leaving my house, cause I got food at home.

In addition to the questions, I have a flowchart to help me in my discernment process because: (1) I’m anal like that; and (2) I need visual reminders to keep me aligned with my values. Each year I paste this in my planner along with my self-care rule of life.

There was a time when I’d accept invitations out of guilt or fear, and then resent having done so when it came time to show up. Getting clear about my mission, my priorities, and my value has eradicated that. Now when I say yes, it’s with my whole chest.