The power of No

Many of us discover our own neurotype while trying to understand and support our children.  For me, that discovery came alongside peri-menopause.  At the same time all the coping mechanisms I’d carefully stashed away to help me function in a world that doesn’t always feel comfortable suddenly fell away.

It felt like accidentally walking under a waterfall I didn’t know was there with nothing to keep me dry.  Bonus points if you’re also parenting neurodivergent children going through puberty (oh, how Mother Nature laughs at us). 

I’ve been lucky. My children have taught me so much about myself that I don’t think I would ever have realised without them. I have never regretted learning how my brain works and how to gently reframe things to help me grow. 

One of the things I’ve learned is that I have Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD). In simple terms, this means my brain can interpret very small things as total rejection, instantly and convincingly.  Not being included in an event can become, “they don’t like me.”  Not being asked to be in a photo on a night out can become “I’m not important in this group.” 

Many neurodivergent people experience RSD.  And, as with so many things, understanding what my brain is doing has helped.  I can now notice those thoughts, recognise them for what they are, and gently move past them. Everyone does not hate me — that is my nervous system trying to protect me by scanning for threat.  Alongside this, I have a strong desire to make others happy and fix things for them — classic people pleasing. For a long time, I put everyone else’s needs before my own — not just close friends and family, but pretty much anyone. I still care deeply about people feeling safe and supported by me, whether we’ve met once or known each other for years. What’s changed is that I no longer do this to my own detriment. 

I used to believe that if I said no, I would be letting people down. That they wouldn’t like me. That I’d end up with no friends. I’ve hit burnout many times because of this. When I had children and they needed me more than strangers did, I realised I had to become more boundaried and protect my resources. 

I still find saying no difficult. But I now know it’s okay. 

I can say: 
No, sorry, I need an evening at home. 
No, sorry, I’ll be too tired. 

Reducing what I commit to has also meant I let people down far less, because I’m not constantly over-stretching or double-booking myself (most of the time). 

The real point of this blog is simple: it is okay to say no. 

If a professional suggests a visit time that doesn’t work, it is okay to say, “That doesn’t work for me.” 

I got caught out by this repeatedly with my daughter’s school. When the SENCo asked for meetings, I’d often say something like, “It’s difficult because I’ll have just finished an overnight, but if there’s no other option I can make it work.” What she heard was yes — and that’s fair, because that’s what I’d said. 

What I actually needed to say was no. 

Another time would almost certainly have been offered. It might not have been the SENCo’s preferred time, but it would have been one that worked for both of us. Instead, this pattern created tension. I felt unheard, and I was often tired, less patient, and more abrupt in those meetings. When I’m rested, I’m far more measured and thoughtful in how I communicate. 

The SENCo was responding to my words. I was being vague. No is not vague. 

It’s also okay to give yourself space before committing. Saying something like, “I just need to check my calendar before I confirm,” is a complete sentence. It allows you to check whether something genuinely works for you — not just whether you can force yourself to endure it. 

Where saying yes props up broken systems 

I’ve also seen the cost of not saying no from the other side — as a social worker.  When I worked in an assessment team, I regularly held more families than others. We had allocation meetings where managers would outline new referrals and ask who had capacity.  When no one volunteered — and people said they didn’t have space — I would often say I could take it. 

My assumption was that everyone else was being honest. That they were as stretched as I was, also working beyond capacity.  And at the end of the day, this was a family who needed help. Someone had to do it. So that someone was usually me. 

I worked long hours, many unpaid. I didn’t take proper breaks. I carried constant stress — not just from the complexity and emotional weight of the work, but from the relentless pressure of meeting timescales with an impossible workload. 

What I later realised was that not everyone was working with the same mindset — and that work was not being fairly distributed. 

Yes, there were clear flaws in the allocation system. Realistically, allocations should have been made by managers to workers with the right skill set and the capacity. But I can now see that my goodwill and strong work ethic were quietly exploited.  I didn’t advocate for myself. I should have said no. 

And this matters — because when professionals say yes and absorb the pressure, the system appears to function. Targets are met. Waiting lists move. On paper, things look manageable.  But the cost is carried by the individual. 

When we work unpaid hours, skip breaks, and push through exhaustion, we mask the problem.  The system flows, and the worker suffers.  Services are not held accountable because the shortfall is hidden. 

Sometimes systems have to fail to show that they need support.  Funding and staffing are not increased unless need is clearly demonstrated. I know budgets are tight. I know local authorities are under enormous financial strain, with deficits and debts under constant scrutiny. But we are not individually responsible for holding broken systems together at the expense of our health. 

Saying no is not a failure of professionalism. 

It is professional integrity. 

For parents and professionals alike 

I’ve seen parents who push themselves at work because of RSD, people-pleasing, or a desire to be “seen as reliable,” only to be undervalued or taken advantage of.  Sometimes their line manager focuses solely on their need to reduce hours, work flexibly, or leave at short notice because of their child’s needs — without recognising the enormous value and contribution they are already making. 

This is exactly why saying no is so important. It protects your energy, your wellbeing, and your ability to engage meaningfully — at home, at work, and in the wider system. 

Here’s what this really comes down to: 

·        When we say yes when we shouldn’t, the system looks like it’s working but it isn’t. 

·        Over-functioning individuals prop up under resourced systems. 

·        Goodwill masks failure. 

·        Burnout is not a personal flaw, it’s often evidence of systemic misuse. 

·        If we never say no, nothing ever changes. 

Saying no protects your capacity, your sanity, and the quality of your contribution. It allows systems to be held accountable and gives space for real change to happen — for individuals and for families alike. 

Saying no isn’t selfish. 

It’s ethical. 

And sometimes, it’s the most caring thing you can do. 

Home Visits: A professional’s guide to engaging autistic young people (and parents)

Sometimes, engaging an autistic young person during a home visit (whatever that visit is for) takes a bit more thought and planning in order to get as much engagement as possible.

So here are some do’s and don’ts.

1: Don’t visit unannounced.  Let them know you are coming ahead of time.  Surprises are not fun.

2:  Do say why you are visiting.  “I’m visiting so we can discuss xyz”.

3:  Do be on time.  If you say 2pm, be there at 2pm, not earlier, not later.

4:  Do let them know how long the visit will likely be.

5: Do tell them about you ahead of time.  If this is your first visit, why not send a profile of yourself, with a photo.  Maybe a text of email “Hi Jack, I’m Nick, your new Youth Worker.  This is a photo of me.  I’d like to visit you next Monday at 3pm.  I’d like to talk to you about how school is and tell you about the work that we do”.

6:  Do think about the language that you use.  Avoid vague terms like ‘frequently’, ‘regularly’.  “You need to brush your teeth twice a day” is clearer than “You need to brush your teeth regularly”.

7:  Do give time.  Take the time to get to know them, to build a rapport.  Ask us about their interests, show genuine interest.

8: Don’t force or expect eye contact.  Sit alongside rather than opposite them.  Maybe do something physical whilst talking – colouring, go for a walk, playing a game.  A lack of eye contact is not rudeness or disinterest.

9: Do check their understanding. 

10: Don’t bullshit.  If you can’t do it, say so.  If its not going to happen, say so.  Don’t offer false promise.  Don’t break trust as you will never get it back.  Be transparent, clear and straight forward.

11:  Do offer alternatives – don’t assume everyone can do or wants to do a video call or a phone call.  Ask them what their preference is for communication.  This could be voice notes, email, texting.

12:  Do lay off the perfume/aftershave/cigarettes that day.  Strong smells may be distracting or alienating.

13:  Do consider the sound of your voice.  If you have a naturally loud voice, tone it down a bit.

14:  Do get their preferred name right.  If you don’t know, ask.  If you don’t know how to pronounce their name, ask.  Ask them for their pronouns and use them correctly.  “I use she/her pronouns, what do you prefer?”.