Michigan in Color
8 — Wednesday, January 25, 2023

Learn to say no

Being able to say I was busy 
used to be my pride and joy. If 
you were to ask me how I was 
freshman year, I would most 
likely respond with a “good — 
just busy with school.” I abided 
by the unspoken laws of being 
a “productive college student” 
and said yes to every oppor-
tunity I came across. It took a 
semester of burnout and fatigue 
to realize that my idealization 
of busyness prevented me from 
practicing healthy boundaries. 
Why is it hard for us to say 
no? I hate saying no. Could it be 
because the thought of people 
feeling disregarded scares me? 
Or because I love the rush of 
being everything and every-
where all at once? Perhaps. Yet 
I can’t help but think about 
how connected this habit is to 
my childhood. 
I am used to no’s. My parents 
were strict: straight home after 
school, no sleepovers in other 
houses and no boyfriends. My 
immigrant parents made sure 
I didn’t develop only child syn-
drome and mostly told me no 

when I wanted to do things 
other kids my age were doing. 
I was their only child, and for 
that matter, a girl. In their 
eyes, I had to be protected from 
a society with malicious men. 
I grew up guarded by the say-
ings “no one we know is going” 
or “no is no.” My younger self 
felt sabotaged by the experi-
ences my friends had because 
I craved a normal teenage life-
style. Of course, I can’t ignore 
the fact that the things I asked 
for were almost always out of 
reach or impossible, like the 
time I asked my parents if I 
could go to a Justin Bieber con-
cert but I didn’t know anyone 
that was going and the ticket 
prices were three-digit num-
bers. The Belieber in me was 
so furious by their denial that I 
recall wanting to run away the 
night of the concert. I remem-
ber asking my parents if I could 
get a job in downtown Chicago 
because the downtown rush 
excited me. The answer was no. 
I was a very curious child — I 
wanted to know what life had 
to offer outside of my small 
family. So, as I received no’s, 
my curiosity grew. Although 
I understand the reasoning 

behind their no’s, I wish they 
knew how hard it was to be 
denied as a child of immigrants 
who was already being denied 
by the standards of a “normal 
American teenager” — I was 
told, “we have food at home,” 
when I asked to make a stop 
at McDonald’s. Yet, it hurt to 
remember how normal it was 
for my friends to do simple 
things like getting McDonald’s. 
During my high school years, 
I learned that my childhood 
desires were a luxury my fam-
ily could simply not afford. As 
I gained independence and my 
curiosity to explore increased, 
I chose to say yes. An oppor-
tunity to serve on a student 
advisory council for the school 
district? Yes. Want to serve on 
my high school’s student coun-
cil? Yes. I wanted to do every-
thing and sought to reverse 
all of the no’s I had been told. 
I loved adventuring with my 
friends, staying after school for 
meetings and looking for extra-
curricular activities. I loved 
being busy. 
College came around, and 
that urge to always be occupied 
only strengthened. I signed up 
for all of the student organiza-

tions I found interesting and 
filled my Google Calendar with 
weekly events. It was a humble 
brag to say I was good but busy 
when people asked me how I 
was. Everyone in this univer-
sity seemed to always be busy, 
and I didn’t feel productive 
if I took a nap once I got back 
from my classes. Commitment 
became easy and many times 
I sacrificed personal time for 
commitments I didn’t need to 
have. Why wouldn’t I want to 
finish a task for my job know-
ing it was already past 5 p.m? 
Why wouldn’t I want to set up 
meetings back to back knowing 
I had no time to eat in between? 
Maybe because I loved being 
in demand. The day in the life 
of a college student videos I 
watched didn’t warn me about 
over commitment. In school, 
there is little to no discussion 
about how easy it is for col-
lege students to overwhelm 
themselves with unnecessary 
commitments. Overproductiv-
ity violates all laws of having a 
balanced and healthy lifestyle. 
And it is only harder for stu-
dents of Color who are expect-
ed to be “competent college 
students” despite day-to-day 

encounters with social injus-
tice.
The emotional and academic 
consequences of always saying 
yes came to a head last semes-
ter. I was enrolled in 14 credit 
hours, worked part-time and 
added two more organizations 
to my calendar. I developed 
unhealthy eating habits, felt 
emotionally exhausted and the 
thought of studying for hours 
drained me. I dreaded school 
days and couldn’t wait for the 
semester to be over. I was in 
survival mode. 
Near the end of the semester, 
I met with my research mentor 
to discuss our weekly tasks. As 
we were discussing how much 
capacity I had to finish the 
weekly tasks, I assured her that 
I would get everything done, 
despite it being a little more 
work than usual. In bewil-
derment, she said, “Can you 
really, Luz?” She caught me off 
guard. Could I really? That was 
a good question. I could, but 
that would require me to spend 
less time studying and taking 
care of myself. I was tired and 
she noticed. So I swallowed 
my pride and told her no. Our 
talk forced me to think about 

my conceptualization of com-
mitment and availability. She 
advised me to show grace to 
myself and the commitments I 
made because time is the most 
precious thing we can spend. 
The promises and commit-
ments I was making were not 
purposeful if I kept saying yes 
without considering my true 
availability. I was not creat-
ing boundaries that protect my 
health and wellness. 
As I reflect on last semes-
ter and look forward to new 
beginnings, I am ready to say 
no more often. It is important 
for me to recognize that my 
personal time is just as valu-
able as attending class. Sched-
uling work meetings may be 
an investment for my career, 
but scheduling “me time” is 
an investment for my energy 
and peace. I can’t forget that 
I am the first one in my fam-
ily to attend a university with 
responsibilities 
that 
extend 
beyond the classroom. What I 
practice today will influence 
future generations, and I can 
only hope that I can pass down 
the willingness to choose your-
self, to say no when society 
wants you to say yes.

LUZ MAYANCELA
MiC Columnist

Luz Mayancela/MiC

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

Post-convocation isolation

I am in my senior year of col-
lege and I am terrified of look-
ing back. 
Regardless of my many mis-
takes, my four years of higher 
education are free of regrets. 
I have taken full advantage 
of the opportunities afforded 
to me. I am, by all accounts, 
graduating knowing I’ve had an 
incredibly successful run. I’ve 
beat all the odds! Despite my 
background, I’ve racked up an 
array of achievements. I know 
I will wear my cap and gown, 
have my silly little diploma to 
hang up and eventually don an 
oversized 
“Michigan 
Alum” 
MDen crewneck. I will sit in 
my well-lit apartment paid for 

by the kind of job that makes 
my peers’ eyes go wide. I will 
be comfortable. And, despite all 
that comfort, I will look back 
and know that the comfort is an 
isolating one, meant only for me 
alone.
The worst part of “mak-
ing it” is knowing you can’t 
bring everyone with you. Being 
someone who has “beaten the 
odds” means being someone 
who comes from a family and 
community that are plagued 
with those very same odds. We 
lack the money, connections 
and support others are blessed 
with. Beating those odds is 
a reflection of what luck and 
opportunity come our way. A 
particularly dedicated coun-
selor, a well-timed applica-
tion submission, bumping into 

someone with the right con-
nections or, in my case, coin-
cidentally working at a cafe 
frequented by the right people. 
Who knows where I’d be if that 
job hadn’t triggered a chain of 
events connecting me to out-
landish opportunities I never 
even knew existed. A chance 
introduction to one of the most 
important people on campus 
changed my life, all because 
they wanted a cup of hot tea.
Unfortunately, 
deserving-
ness is not something that 
comes into play when it comes 
to who’s able to work their way 
around an empty bank account 
and lack of resources. We all 
deserve it. Only some of us are 
lucky enough to be in the right 
place at the right time around 
the right people. We all work 

hard. I got lucky. 
One thing they don’t tell you 
about attending a renowned 
predominantly white institu-
tion (PWI) is that it will draw 
an invisible curtain between 
you and your loved ones. Some-
thing shifts just so and you sud-
denly exist on different planes, 
neither 
fully 
understanding 
the other. No more freezing 
waits at bus stops, no more 
day-old discount bread. Your 
life becomes something alien, 
filled with stand-up meetings 
and coffee chats. Should you 
choose to carry through, you 
will be successful. You will get 
the job that pulls you out of 
poverty. You will turn around, 
do your best to help your loved 
ones. You will realize there’s 
only so much you can do, and 

only so many people you can 
reach. You will give your mom 
some money, maybe your sib-
lings. You will refer a friend to 
a good job. You will drown in 
the fact that everyone you know 
and love is poor and stripped 
of opportunity — your meager 
success will never be enough 
to change that. No matter how 
strongly you believe everyone is 
entitled to a base level of ease, 
you will never be able to cure 
them of all their struggles.
I wish I could give all my 
friends 
secure, 
comfortable 
jobs. I yearn to buy my mother 
a house and a car, to put my 
younger siblings through col-
lege. What I wouldn’t give to 
pay my grandmother’s medi-
cal bills and help my neighbors 
fix their windows. To even the 

playing field, even the score, 
give everyone what they real-
ly deserve and build a reality 
where a life of comfort is guar-
anteed regardless of money and 
connections. The guilt of being 
the only one to make it out is 
the kind of thing that eats you 
alive. 
I am a senior in college and 
I am moving forward, bitter-
sweet as that is. I have my post-
grad job and am looking for 
an apartment. Throughout all 
this, I am grappling with the 
reality that I cannot bring all 
the people I love up here with 
me. I will put on my cap and 
gown, hug my mother in the Big 
House, and then I will leave. 
I will look back. I will know I 
can’t take them all with me, no 
matter how much I want to.

HUDA SHULAIBA
MiC Columnist