Learning to say ‘no’: A leadership skill we lose — and must reclaim

We refuse some people without a second thought — but with others, saying ‘no’ is a struggle. We often say ‘no’ most easily to those we love the most — our children, our spouses — yet hesitate when it comes to colleagues, institutions, or authority figures.

We decline our children’s requests for more attention or one more story, and we push back on a spouse’s spontaneous suggestions or plans we’re not keen on, often quickly and almost instinctively, without explanation.

At work, however, that clarity disappears. Our ‘no’ hesitates, softens, or vanishes altogether, leaving us overextended, fatigued, and mentally preoccupied.

In theory, saying ‘no’ seems simple - in practice, it rarely is. Most of us hesitate for familiar reasons: fear of conflict, concern for politeness, anxiety about consequences, or worry about how others will perceive us. Over time, that hesitation hardens into habit.

Yet this is not how we begin.

From the very start, we are fluent in refusal. Babies turn away from food, resist sleep, and cry without apology. Their ‘no’ is complete, unburdened, and honest — it is not defiance, but selfhood.

Young children retain this clarity, rejecting clothes they dislike, food they do not want, and rules that feel arbitrary. They respond honestly to their feelings without calculating consequences or managing perceptions.

As a young kid, I remember refusing vegetables, porridge, and milk at mealtimes. My refusal was firm, yet what followed was a relentless lecture on their benefits — good for eyes, hair, skin, blood, teeth, and bones. By the end, I was never quite sure whether I was eating or attending a full-body health seminar. Eventually, I gave in, and if I could discreetly discard the food or pass it to the dog or the ducks - all the better.

Gradually, that early honesty is reshaped.

Many of us are taught that ‘no’ cannot stand alone. It must be softened, qualified, or made polite. “No, thank you,” we were reminded — not just as etiquette, but as posture. A bare ‘no’ felt abrupt, even discourteous, as though refusal required an embedded apology.

Elders corrected the manner, not the decision. “No, thank you” was acceptable for small things, but for expectations, responsibilities, or authority, the answer was assumed to be yes—the lesson was rarely spoken aloud, yet clearly understood.

Schools between the 1970s and 1990s reinforced this. Agreement became the default. Students were expected to align, comply, and move with the system, and disagreement was tolerated only if carefully framed, respectful, and reasoned. The tougher the teacher or subject, the riskier refusal felt.

Even today, despite greater openness to debate, a direct, unqualified ‘no’ remains uncommon. Children quickly learn that dissent must be justified — and that refusal on its own still feels unsafe.

By the time we enter professional life, saying ‘no’ becomes even more complicated.

In leadership and organisational settings — especially in mission-driven fields like education — ‘YES’ is often equated with commitment. We say yes because the work matters, because people rely on us, and because stepping up feels responsible. Requests accumulate, roles expand, and deadlines compress.

“Yes, I’ll take it on. Yes, I’ll manage. Yes, we’ll make it work.”

Often, this yes comes from sincerity rather than pressure — but its impact is cumulative. Work stretches into evenings, messages follow us home, and the mind remains occupied long after the day ends. Fatigue becomes normalised, and saying no still feels harder than taking on one more demand — at this stage, leadership quietly turns into endurance.

“A polite ‘no’ is not discourteous. It is honest.”

The contradiction sharpens. We say ‘no’ most freely where the emotional stakes feel safe. With family, refusal does not threaten identity or reputation; love absorbs friction. At work, however, ‘no’ feels consequential — it risks judgment, invites interpretation, and challenges unspoken hierarchies.

So we ration our refusals — saving them for home while spending compliance at work.

With experience, another question emerges — not about saying ‘no’, but about hearing it.

As leaders, how do we react when someone says ‘no’ calmly, politely, without explanation? Do we accept it, or probe further? Do we interpret it as disengagement, or recognise it as clarity? Many of us are comfortable with disagreement when it comes packaged with reasoning, yet far less comfortable with refusal that simply stands. A ‘no’ without justification unsettles us because it disrupts the expectation that authority deserves explanation — and that refusal must be earned.

This discomfort points to something deeper. Across societies, assent has been prized, compliance rewarded, and refusal treated with suspicion. We learn to negotiate, justify, soften, and explain — but not simply to decline.

Yet ‘no’ is not the opposite of cooperation — it is the boundary that gives cooperation meaning. Without the freedom to refuse, agreement loses integrity. When ‘no’ disappears, yes becomes automatic — and eventually hollow.

With age and perspective, many leaders rediscover a quieter, steadier ‘no’. It is not defensive or performative; it is polite, deliberate, and grounded. It does not announce itself, and it does not apologise.

An invitation arrives. The people are agreeable - nice in fact! The cause is reasonable. Yet you do not wish to attend. Instead of saying ‘no,’ you search for justification — workload, travel, fatigue — something to make the refusal acceptable. Why is it still so difficult to say ‘no’ and leave it at that? Perhaps because we are still unlearning the earliest lesson: that ‘no’, on its own, is sufficient.

From a leadership perspective, learning to say ‘no’ — and learning to receive it — is an act of maturity. Preference does not require permission, and judgment does not demand defence. When leaders allow ‘no’ to exist without interrogation, they create trust, and when they model clear boundaries, they give others permission to do the same.

Organisations that never hear ‘no’ lose focus. Teams that cannot decline become reactive and fatigued, and when everything is agreed to, nothing is truly chosen.

A well-placed ‘no’ creates space. It protects attention, preserves energy, and restores meaning to yes.

We begin life fluent in ‘NO’. We are taught to soften it, qualify it, apologise for it. And if we are fortunate, we relearn it — not as resistance, but as wisdom.

We must realise that leadership is not measured by how much one absorbs, but by how clearly one chooses.

And only when ‘NO ’ is allowed to stand on its own does ‘YES’ regain its true value.

Michael Guzder is Senior Vice-President of Education at GEMS and a former Principal