The Sacred Power of No

Refusal is not rejection—it’s reverence. A spiritual invitation to reclaim your boundaries, your peace, and your voice.

There’s something profoundly holy in the sound of a true no.

Not the kind of no that stems from fear or guilt or habit, but the kind that rises up from the marrow and speaks with the voice of inner authority. The kind of no that draws a line in the sand—not as an act of division, but as a declaration of sovereignty. I’ve said it for years, to anyone who’d listen: No is a complete sentence. I said it long before I found language to wrap around why. I said it before I knew how deeply spiritual that statement really is.

But I know now.

I’ve seen the way a sacred no can redirect a life. How it can cut through obligation and performance and people-pleasing like a clean blade. How it can turn the tides of a conversation, a relationship, or even a movement. I’ve watched it protect peace like a loyal guardian. I’ve also seen the resistance it stirs up—the discomfort it reveals, not just in others, but in ourselves. There’s a cost to saying no, especially for those of us taught that love is earned through sacrifice, or that worth is measured by how much we can endure.

Which brings me to a discovery. A meeting, in a way. I want to introduce you to someone whose work stirred something deep in me—an author, a seer, a voice with resonance. Her name is Desiree B. Stephens, and her recent article Sacred Refusal: A Practice of Saying No is one of those pieces that doesn’t just speak to you—it speaks from you, calling out truths you’ve always known but maybe never named. The kind of writing that’s less like reading and more like remembering.

I wouldn’t have found her if it weren’t for another sacred voice in this work, someone who’s helped shape my path in more ways than one—Rev. R. David Alexander. His Substack, The Liberation Lens, has become a well I draw from often. It was through one of his posts that I encountered Desiree’s words. He shared her piece as part of his exploration of spiritual autonomy and liberation theology, and I followed the thread like a breadcrumb trail left by Spirit.

And there she was. Writing with fire and tenderness. Naming what so many of us feel but struggle to claim: the right to refuse, the divinity of boundaries, the power in pulling back from what depletes us. She wasn’t just advocating for self-care—this was something deeper. A theology of refusal. A liturgy of limits. And in reading her, I found an ally in the sacred art of saying no.

That phrase again: No is a complete sentence. I’ve spoken it on stages, in counseling rooms, over tea with friends who were breaking down under the weight of too many yeses. It’s not just a slogan—it’s a spiritual tool. A holy scalpel. A key to the door of freedom. But I’ve also had to learn, over and over, that this kind of no isn’t always easy to say. It takes practice. Intention. Sometimes it takes a season of silence before you can summon it.

And that’s what this article is about. Not just Desiree’s—though I want you to read it, and I want you to sit with it—but this one too. This moment. This invitation. It’s about reclaiming the no that belongs to you. The no that’s been waiting in your throat. The no that protects your time, your spirit, your mission. Because if we’re here to be channels for Spirit, we can’t let ourselves be stretched thin and worn out. We must preserve our capacity to say yes to what’s truly ours. And that starts with the sacred no.

What struck me first about Desiree’s piece wasn’t just the title—Sacred Refusal—though that alone was enough to pull me in. It was the way she framed refusal not as resistance, but as reverence. A return. A re-rooting.

There’s a line in her writing that feels etched in stone: “No is not the absence of love, it is a boundary rooted in self-respect.” That stopped me. Because how often have we been conditioned to think of saying no as selfish, harsh, or unkind? Especially those of us raised in spiritual or service-oriented communities—we were taught to be open, generous, constantly available. We were taught that love meant saying yes.

But here’s the truth Desiree names with precision and grace: a love that costs your wholeness is not love—it’s compliance. And Spirit doesn’t ask for compliance. Spirit asks for authenticity. Spirit invites alignment. And sometimes alignment means decline.

She writes of saying no as a daily practice—a ritual of remembrance. Each no, she says, is a doorway to a deeper yes. Not necessarily to someone else’s agenda, but to your own knowing. Your own body. Your own rhythm. And in that way, every no becomes a tuning fork, calling us back to the sound of our soul.

I read those words and I could feel every time I’d betrayed my own instincts out of politeness. Every time I said yes when my whole being screamed no. Every time I avoided the friction of refusal and paid for it with exhaustion, burnout, or regret. And I also felt the moments—rare, but unmistakable—when I chose to say no from a place of inner clarity. Those moments became markers on the map of my becoming. Not detours, but sacred pivots.

That’s what Desiree invites us into. Not just to consider saying no, but to reframe it entirely. As healing. As power. As devotion.

And again, this isn’t theoretical for me. I’ve lived this. I’ve watched my own life bend and stretch under the weight of too many obligations. I’ve watched communities, ministries, and even relationships fall into imbalance because no one felt free to say, “That’s not mine to carry.” We praise the overachiever, the one who “shows up no matter what,” but at what cost? What damage do we do to the spirit when we forget that rest, boundaries, and discernment are sacred acts?

I remember a time years ago when I was asked to take on yet another project—something that sounded good on paper, even noble. A service opportunity in the spiritual community. My instinct was no. My body said no. But I heard that old echo: You’re needed. You can help. You should step up. So I said yes.

And it drained me. Slowly at first, then all at once. I showed up with half my heart because the other half had already said no. And I learned the hard way that saying yes when your spirit means no doesn’t help anyone—it just breeds resentment, disconnection, and fatigue. Eventually, I stepped away. Not in bitterness, but with a quiet, resolute no. And in that moment, I felt more aligned than I had in months.

That’s when I began to understand something deeper: our no is not rejection. It’s redirection. It’s prayer in action. And when we refuse what’s not ours, we make room for what is.

So when I read Desiree’s words, I felt seen. I felt reinforced. I felt like she had taken a concept I’d lived and clothed it in sacred language. Her writing is both a balm and a call to action. She speaks with clarity, yes—but also with grace, compassion, and the deep authority that only comes from having lived it.

This isn’t about becoming hard or guarded. It’s not about closing off. It’s about learning the rhythm of your yes and no and dancing with them both. It’s about trusting yourself enough to say: That’s not for me right now. Or even more simply: No. And letting that be enough.

Because it is.

If you’re still with me, I want to offer you something. Not a challenge, not a task—nothing that echoes the grind or pushes you to perform. Just a sacred experiment. A spiritual practice with one word at its center.

Say no.

Once a day. Every day. For the next seven days.

Not a harsh no. Not a reactive no. But a considered, grounded, intentional no. Say it where you usually cave. Say it where silence used to live. Say it not to punish, but to honor. To honor your time, your needs, your energy, your body. Say it for no other reason than that it feels right and true.

You might start small. No to that extra meeting. No to that “quick favor” that isn't quick and doesn’t serve your peace. No to the late-night scroll. No to your own inner critic that tells you you’re only valuable when you’re useful.

Every no creates a ripple.

Every no clears space for something new to emerge. You don’t even need to know what that is yet. Just trust that when you close a door with love, another one opens—one that’s meant for you.

Pay attention. Notice how it feels. Notice what comes up. The guilt, the relief, the silence that follows. Document it. Journal. Record a voice memo. Jot down a sentence on a napkin. Find some way to bear witness to the practice.

What you’re doing is not casual. This is reclamation work. This is unlearning. This is sacred.

And don’t be surprised if things start to shift.

Try this: for the next seven days, say one sacred, intentional no each day. Journal what happens. Notice the shifts. Share your reflections below—or just sit with them. Your no is enough.

When you come out the other side, you may find that life feels a little lighter. That your yes carries more weight. That your center is clearer.

And that the world didn’t fall apart when you said no.

It just began to make sense.