You say yes before your brain finishes the sentence, then carry the resentment alone.
The word "yes" leaves your mouth before your brain has a vote. Someone needs a ride, a favor, your whole Saturday — and you've already agreed before the part of you that's exhausted gets a say. It feels like kindness, and sometimes it is. But mostly it's fear wearing kindness's coat: the fear that a no makes you unlovable. So you absorb the small asks until they're 40 hours a month, and you tell yourself you don't mind, and the resentment quietly piles up in a room no one's allowed into. The cruel part is that people can't repay a debt you never told them they owed.
Get your read — free on iPhoneyou don't agree because you want to. you agree because no feels like a thing that gets you left.