When Saying No Led to a New Life: How Setting Boundaries Transformed Sanjana and Yuvraj’s Journey

Saying No - Breakthrough Journeys

It was one of those days when the sky seemed to weigh heavily, as if it too bore the burden of decisions that people did not dare make. That morning, two stories came to me—stories that had no idea they would cross paths within my coaching client list. One was Sanjana, a meek woman who had spent her entire life being everyone's "yes person." The other was Yuvraj's, a young man with fire in his heart but chains around his decisions.

Their paths were different, but their fight was the same. They both didn't know how to utter the word "No", not to others, not to pressure, not even to parts of themselves that no longer served.

When Sanjana initially approached me, she appeared to be a woman who had practiced smiling at the world but lost touch with experiencing it herself. She was a daughter, a mother, a team leader in the office, and the emotional sponge for nearly everyone in her circle of life. But for herself, who was she? That was a question that scared her. She had been existing in roles, checking boxes, but in her heart, something had been whispering, "This is not you anymore." That whisper had turned into a scream the day she agreed to go to another family event she did not want to go to. She attended, as always, but something inside snapped.

And then Yuvraj. Boisterous on the outside, lost inside. A closet people-pleaser, hidden under gym selfies and boisterous jokes. He struggled with a dominating family business he never wanted to be part of. But every time he tried to talk about his dreams of starting a mental health podcast, his father would laugh and say, “Stop being so soft.” And every time, Yuvraj swallowed his truth and nodded. Until one day, during a session, he blurted out: "Bhaiya, I’m tired of living someone else’s life!"

That moment altered everything.

What followed in the subsequent weeks was not rebellion but realignment. It was not aggression but quiet assertion. Sanjana and Yuvraj both started practicing the divine art of conscious refusal—the sort of "No" that isn't rejection but self-respect.

I recall assigning Sanjana a simple journaling exercise: "Write down five things you committed to last week that left you feeling drained or invisible." Her list flowed effortlessly. Birthday lunches, spontaneous presentations, sitting through her sister's incessant complaints without complaining about her own woes, even agreeing to a diet plan she didn't need. Her writing on the page shook as her voice had. "I didn't know I was this exhausted," she said.

With Yuvraj, it was more physical. I had him record a voice note each time he said yes to something that didn't ring true. His notes were filled with strained laughter, drawn-out silences, and one repeated phrase—"I guess I should just adjust." That phrase became our signal. I asked him one day, "If your future child says that phrase to you, how would you react?" He fell silent.

"I'd tell them to quit killing their spirit," he answered.

They were both crossing into what I refer to as the Breakthrough Resistance Phase —that uncomfortable phase in which you start saying no, and the world around you starts resisting.

Sanjana said no to her cousin's wedding shopping extravaganza and was greeted with silence and sarcasm. Her mother told her she was "too self-involved." Her friend told her, "You've changed." She wept after that telephone call. "I don't like hurting people," she explained.

"But Sanjana," I reminded her gently, "you've been hurting yourself for years."

She began small, hesitated before responding to any demand, and learned what we referred to as the "Dharmic Pause." A breath, a pause, a simple inquiry: "Does this bring me peace?" If the response was no, so was hers. Gradually, she came to see that a no was not selfish. It was sacred. It was self-respect.

While Yuvraj had his own mini-war, his father treated him coldly after he turned down a new project assignment, and his older brother ridiculed him in front of the staff. "Podcast wale baba ban gaya hai," they teased. He wanted to quit. "I'll just agree and be done with it," he confided in me one day. But I encouraged him to wait for one more day, then another.

That week, he uploaded his first podcast teaser on Instagram, which received 312 views. His face lit up when he noticed the feedback and comments from acquaintances from the past, strangers following him, even a cousin who commented, "Bhai, I feel the same." He turned to me over Zoom, blushing, "Bhaiya, I think it was the first time I did something for myself."

That was the actual turning point. Sanjana also discovered her own version of that change. It occurred on a rainy night. She had taken a day off and remained at home with her journal. She prepared something for herself, not for the children, not for her husband, just something she enjoyed. She lit a diya, listened to her favorite old Bengali song, and for the first time in years, she ate in silence, in peace.

She later wrote to me, "I felt like I was home… within myself."

Both of them had taken difficult decisions. Sanjana discontinued going to social gatherings where she used to feel pretentious. She started telling her manager no when deadlines were superhuman. She started asking her husband for assistance without shame. Yuvraj, meanwhile, recused himself from day-to-day business tasks and formally started his podcast, "The Soft Strength." He created uncut, real episodes on masculinity, mental well-being, and refusing societal expectations.

Their lives never became perfect. But they became real.

A few weeks later, I got a long text from Sanjana. She had gone to her childhood house alone, something she had not done in decades. "I sat under the guava tree where I used to read Tagore's poems. I don't know how I forgot that girl. But she's still there. She's still waiting for me." That line haunted me.

And Yuvraj? He recently had a podcast episode with his cousin, the same one who used to taunt him. They discussed emotional hurt and openness. Yuvraj concluded that episode with the words, "When we learn to say no to the wrong things, life opens the door to the right ones."

That, to me, is the crux of all breakthrough journeys.

As a coach, I’ve seen people chase healing in a thousand ways—books, therapy, retreats, escapes. But sometimes, all it takes is one powerful word. One gentle, conscious “No” that comes not from anger, but from truth.

Sanjana's experience keeps reminding me that women, particularly in our Indian culture, are trained to serve eternally without speaking out. Her awakening was not one of rebellion—it was about remembering herself. Her No was a whisper that became a prayer of return to self.

Yuvraj's journey illustrates how men struggle under the burden of unexpressed expectations. His No was not a battle cry. It was a gentle but adamant refusal to shoulder the wrong legacy. A silent taking back of his own voice.

In both tales, I noticed the same pattern—people waking up from roles they never volunteered for. And once they began saying No, life started giving them the room to say Yes to something deeper.

So many of us dread the word "No." We believe it destroys relationships. But I've learned that it actually shows you which relationships were authentic to begin with. When you begin to choose peace instead of pressure, alignment over approval, you don't lose people. You lose the part of yourself that was always putting on an act.

Sanjana goes on to guide other working mothers on how to set boundaries. Yuvraj facilitates a workshop on emotional resilience among college students. And I. I sit in quiet at times, grinning at the amazement of it all. The ripple effect of one decision. The inner flame of one truth. The magic of saying No.

If you're reading this and you've been too scared to say No to others, here's something from my heart to you:

You're not here to impress the world. You're here to express your soul.

And sometimes, your soul whispers No. Not with hate. But with love. For who you are, for what you deserve. For the life you're meant to live.

Because the moment you say No to what dims your light……is when life begins.

Om poornamadah Poornamidam |

Poornaat Poornamudachyate |

Poornasya Poornamaadaya |

Poornamevaavashishyate |

Om shanti, shanti, shanti hi ||

Hari Om Tatsat!

Warm regards,

Abhisshek Om Chakravarty, (Coach Abhisshek)

Holistic Life Coach | Mindfulness Mentor | Family Mindset Coach 

"Within each soul lies infinite wisdom; I simply help others uncover their light."

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