Dear readers, time and again, mums complain about mental load and having too many tasks on their to-do lists. Our reader has taken a leaf out of the book of French mums to see how they manage, quite charmingly, to say ‘no’ without offending anyone. There are some really brilliant ideas here…
I have a little theory: German mums are world champions at just getting on with things. We organise children’s birthday parties like event managers, remember dentist appointments and their favourite lunchbox, give maths tuition on the side, and still manage to be emotionally available. Always, and for everyone.
And somewhere in between, we lose a rather important skill: saying no. Or worse still: perhaps we never really had it in the first place. I’m not talking about Angela Merkel’s resolute ‘no’. But rather a ‘no’ that comes across as charming, clear and matter-of-fact, leaving behind neither drama nor feelings of guilt.
In France, I learnt something that has had a lasting impact on my life as a mother: you can very well say no and still remain lovable. Or rather: especially then.
The German way: “Oh, I’ll just do it”
At first, I was the one who took everything on myself. The one who, during parental leave at home, suddenly and without being asked, stepped up to peak performance in the household and the kitchen (just a little bit of a child! I can surely manage the rest as well…). The one who quickly bakes three cakes for the charity bake sale, even though she’s actually running on empty. But it fitted so nicely with my self-image as a Superwoman who can handle anything.
But in truth, I was also the woman who seethed inside, wondering why no one realised it was too much. Spoiler: No one realises it if we don’t say so. Or if we do say something, it sounds something like this: “Actually, I’m not really up for it… but if you can’t find anyone else…” That’s not a no. It’s a watered-down ‘maybe’ with built-in self-sacrifice, and before you know it, you’re stuck on the hamster wheel.
The French way: charming, clear, voilà
French women do things differently: they are neither brusque nor apologetic. They say no with style and diplomacy. The difference is subtle, but crucial.
German: “That’s not possible. I don’t have the capacity for that.”
French: “You know I do almost everything for you. But I can’t do that right now.”
Or my personal favourite phrase (imported straight from France): “I’d be happy to do that for you. Which task should I skip instead?” Boom. You haven’t even said no, and yet everything is clear. What’s happening here?
- The relationship remains intact
- The boundary is crystal clear
- No need for endless justifications
And above all, no guilty conscience. Often, it’s our own expectations of ourselves that drive us. Or the worry that we won’t be liked anymore, or won’t be asked next time, if we say no now.
I still remember clearly the moment when I myself said for the first time: “I won’t be there on such-and-such a date, how shall we organise things?” Instead of “I’ll sort it out somehow.” And you know what? Things still ran smoothly, and actually quite well. Okay, the washing machine hadn’t been on for three days, but honestly: I’d call that a fair deal.
Why we find this so difficult
Many women believe that saying no makes them:
- selfish
- unreliable
- difficult
- unpleasant
In reality, something else happens: if you constantly push yourself beyond your limits, at some point you’ll become… let’s say: bitchy. I, for one, know exactly this: if I moan a lot over a long period of time, then in reality I feel overwhelmed, I’m tired, or I’m doing things I don’t actually feel responsible for.
My children put it very diplomatically, by the way: “Mum, maybe you should go and meditate again.” Whilst I heroically do what I don’t actually want to do, I grumble. But I don’t like feeling sorry for myself either. So it’s better to just say no straight away, isn’t it? A clear ‘no’ is often more loving than an annoyed ‘yes’. The problem isn’t the ‘no’ itself, but how we say it. Many of us make saying ‘no’ unnecessarily complicated. We…
- …explain too much
- …apologise
- …make up excuses
- …say “actually”
- …hope that others will “figure it out anyway”
But they won’t, or they’ll politely ignore it because it doesn’t suit them. A “no” can be short and friendly. “No” is a complete sentence. And yet, if you like, it can be wrapped up in a bit of French flair.
A little training camp (it’s free and even fun)
My personal favourite place to practise this is – ta-da! Classified ads. I’m dead serious! If someone writes “final price?” at 10 pm or a buyer wants to collect the balance bike today, whilst you’re actually on your way to a rare child-free evening… then you have two options:
- Put yourself last again; after all, the poor child’s birthday is tomorrow and they’re supposed to get the balance bike as a present…
- Or say: “Unfortunately, today isn’t a good time. Tomorrow would be fine.” Without justification, drama or a guilty conscience.
Or those typical school requests: “Please, every child should bring a sunflower for the teacher.” I don’t know about you, but I get latently aggressive at things like that. Because I know exactly what it means: I’ll remember. I’ll organise it. Of course, I won’t get the last, half-wilted sunflower from the petrol station, but a “nice” one. I remind my child in the morning. And if in doubt, I carry the thing myself right to the school door.
Mental load, bonjour. And somewhere between the florist’s and the lunchbox, I then ask myself: Are we all mad, or can we please sort this out differently? And that’s exactly where it begins, this mini-rebellion in everyday life. How important do you take yourself? That’s the real question behind the ‘no’.
Let’s start a revolution in glittery socks
We don’t have to don yellow vests, but we can become a bit more rebellious – in our own way. With glittery socks. The rebel in you says ‘no’ when she means ‘no’. Not loudly, not aggressively, but clearly, charmingly and quite convincingly.
And now it’s your turn
Today is a good day for a little ‘no’. Not against others, but for yourself. And who knows, maybe by the second time it’ll feel just a tiny bit like Emily in Paris…
