Managing co-parenting, boundaries, and PDA — one ‘no’ at a time.
No.
Two letters.
Easy to write.
Easy to say.
Yet one of the most powerful words in any language.
And right now, it’s the word I’m struggling with the most.
I’ve never been an assertive person. I’m a people pleaser. If someone asks me to do something, I’ll usually say yes—because I hate conflict and I don’t want to upset anyone.
But over the last year, I’ve had to learn to say no.
Not because I want to, but because I’ve had to.
To protect my son. To protect myself. To protect our wellbeing.
And every time, it’s hard.
Saying No for Myself
The easiest “no” to say has been to things that only involve me.
I’ve read all the self-help advice about self-care—“make time for yourself,” “do something for you.” Lovely in theory, but the truth is, when my son is here, he’s with me every single second of the day (minus school). He doesn’t want to leave my side.
There are people who would happily help, but he doesn’t want that—he wants me.
People might say, “Well, he goes to his dad’s—use that time for self-care.”
But it’s not that simple. By the time my body and mind finally come down from the intensity of being in “full-care mode,” he’s back again. I used to try to fill those weekends with things I thought I should do—catch up with friends, go out, be social. But now? That’s the last thing I want. I’ve realised that true self-care, for me, means peace. It means saying no to events and protecting my energy. Sometimes that looks like sitting in a quiet room, watching something mindless, and letting myself breathe.
I lead a quieter life now. And I’m okay with that.
Saying No for My Son
This one is harder.
I’ve had to learn to say no to things involving him—birthday parties, family gatherings, meals out, football matches, school events, and more. Because for my son, these things are not always enjoyable—they can be overwhelming.
As parents, we’re told our children should experience everything. Society sets the expectation: school discos, harvest festivals, Christmas shows, after-school clubs, swimming, football, tennis, running… the list is endless. And when he was little, I signed up for it all—because that’s what I thought I was supposed to do. But so many of those experiences were incredibly hard for him. Over time, I’ve learned to choose wisely.
And only recently have I become confident enough to say no without guilt.
I don’t give long explanations anymore. I simply say, “We can’t make it.”
And that’s that.
Saying No to His Dad
This is, without a doubt, the hardest. Because of the backlash I get from it.
We have a routine that works well for our son, and I rarely ask for changes. It’s taken time, effort, and tears to find what keeps him settled. But his dad doesn’t always agree with this. He often asks to swap weekends, usually because of football matches. They have season tickets to go watch their favourite team, but of course, matches don’t always fall on his weekends. So, the requests begin.
Sometimes they come as polite “asks.”
Sometimes as guilt-laden messages about how much our son “loves the match more than anything.”
Sometimes they come with a tone that suggests I’m being unfair, controlling, or difficult.
And almost always, they come late—days before the match—when saying no feels cruel.
I’ve tried everything—splitting weekends, rearranging plans, compromising—because I wanted to be fair. Because I wanted my son to have those experiences. But every time, it ended in disaster. My son struggles with change. When we’ve swapped things around, he’s melted down—before, and after.
Last Christmas was the final straw. Read (Did you have a nice Christmas and New Year?).His dad spent nearly an hour on the phone trying to convince him to go to a match, and I watched my son spiral with panic. That night, I promised myself: never again. So, this season, I offered four full-weekend swaps to make things fair and predictable. I felt that if my son was in one place all weekend that would be better for him than splitting weekend time at both houses. But I got no response. I chased twice. Still nothing. This was perfect it meant everything would stay the same.
Then, a week before one of the matches, a message arrived. A long one. The kind that makes your heart sink before you’ve even opened it. It said how desperate my son supposedly was to go to the match, how I was stopping him from doing what he loved most, how unfair I was, and could I “please reconsider.” And of course, that sort of message gets under your skin. You start doubting yourself.
So, I asked my son directly. I told him if he really wanted to go, I would make it work. His response was instant and I could see the panic in his eyes:
“I just want the weekends to stay the same. No changes.”
That was all I needed to hear. I told his dad no. The reply I got wasn’t kind, but I knew it was the right decision. That weekend, we watched the match on TV. My son didn’t really watch it—he chatted to me and played on his iPad. At halftime, I said he could stay up or go to bed. He chose bed. And that confirmed it for me: I made the right call.
Of course, the next month, another message came asking the same thing.
Almost word for word.
This time, I didn’t even pause.
I simply said No.
Because sometimes, the hardest word is also the clearest one.
The One Person I Don’t Say No To
But there’s one person I don’t say no to — my son.
Saying no doesn’t work well for him. It brings anxiety, frustration, and resistance. So, I’ve learned to adapt. I say yes — yes to flexibility, yes to control, yes to doing things in his own way and his own time.
And the irony?
By saying yes to him — by allowing choice and removing the battle — he’s actually stopped doing many of the things I once would’ve said no to.
So while I’ve had to learn the power of saying no to almost everyone else,
I’ve also learned the power of saying yes to him.
The Questions of My Child 
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