Last week, I was in the middle of a training, when it happened. I asked the volunteers to do a simple listening exercise, where they were supposed to address an inconsequential problem in their lives. Uncomfortable with the assignment, it was the first time I heard them say:
No.
They didn’t want to do it. Five minutes was too long. They already knew everything about each other in two sessions. They asked for it to be modified to fit their comfort.
I have rolled the incident in my mind over and over in the last week. Unfortunately, it still takes power away from me. Every time I open my mouth to speak, I am so afraid that the next thing I say will be met with the same opposition. No. And underneath that “no” is that fear that says that if someone else asked, they would do it. That they’re opposing because it’s me.
I forget who I am in those moments. I am a teenager again, and I do not have a voice. Or I am a child, being scolded for something I didn’t do. Yes, the woman who opposed me was my mother’s age, or older, and the other one that echoed her was at least ten years older than my father. I can understand that in their eyes, I am a young girl, copying the work of others. And I begin to believe I am that.
I wish I didn’t have to give power away. That I grew up knowing who I was, and that I amounted to more than what I was told. Now, when I speak, I stutter violently, afraid at what will come out next. I have spoken in front of crowds and conferences. I have spoken my fear into submission. But it is coming back with a vengeance, and its determined to take me down.
It’s amazing how “No” can be so powerful. And when I wait to invite the Lord into that moment. And how, as the facilitator, or leader, of the group, can I hold onto the power that I have? Perhaps by acknowledging that power consists of more than speaking well, or not speaking well? What that woman shattered was the facade that I was relying on to look impressive.
What is power, then?
