Because I Said So (ShiFt Happens)

I'm writing this from an airport, on my way to North Carolina for a conference I'm speaking at, because of course I was up late last night packing like the trip snuck up on me instead of being on my calendar for a month.

My son picked that exact moment, mid-scramble, half my brain on my slides and the other half looking for a charger, to bring up the virtual reality game he's been designing in his head for weeks. He needs a developer. He wants to know when we're finding one. Today would be good. Now would be better.

I told him we'd talk about it when I got back.

He asked again.

I told him again, a little faster this time.

He asked a third time, and I heard it come out of my mouth before I could stop it.

"Because I said so."

Over a video game. While I had a suitcase open on the bed and forty minutes to get to the airport. I felt my mother's voice come out of my body. Not mine. Hers. And for a second I thought, oh no. Not this. Not me.

Too late. It's me now.

Once you notice it, you can't unnotice it. I've said a version of it at work when someone questioned a call I'd already made. Said it to a friend who kept pushing on a decision I was done discussing. Different rooms, same phrase, same exhausted energy behind it.

You're not saying it because you're right. You're saying it because you're tired of proving that you're right.

Why This Matters

Look, you don't owe anyone a reason for every decision you make. That's not the problem. My son wasn't entitled to a full breakdown of my travel schedule and my energy levels at 6am. The boundary was fine. The boundary was correct.

The problem is what the phrase does even when you're right to say no.

Say it once, it's a boundary. Say it enough times, it teaches someone to stop asking why. It's not because they finally understood but because they learned asking gets them nowhere. That's the real cost, and it's a lot harder to shrug off than "hurt feelings." It's someone quietly deciding you're not worth asking anymore, and going somewhere else, or nowhere at all, the next time they need something from you.

Your kid stops bringing you the big ideas.
Your team stops flagging the thing that seems off.
Your partner stops mentioning the small stuff, and you don't find out until it's not small anymore.
Your friend stops calling when it actually matters.

Not dramatically but quietly. That's what makes it easy to miss.

Maybe you're thinking, so what, not every decision needs a TED talk. You're right. This isn't about explaining more. It's about what one sentence does when you say it enough times.

Try This ShiFt

Stop pretending there's nothing to explain. Name what's actually happening instead.

"I'm not going to walk through the whole reasoning right now, but I need you to trust me on this."

For my son, that would've sounded like: "I'm not deciding this in an airport with 40 minutes to my flight, but I'm not saying no. We're talking about it when I'm home." Same boundary. Same result. He still doesn't get the developer today. But now the door is closed because I'm out of time, not because his game doesn't matter to me.

Say it. Then stop talking. Don't backfill it with three more sentences trying to soften it. The stop is the whole move.

They're going to push with things like: "Trust you why though." "That's not fair." "Just tell me."

Don't refill the tank you just said was empty. Repeat the line, don't defend it.

"I hear you. I'm still not walking through it right now."

That's the whole move twice. Say it, stop. They push, say it again, stop again. The second time feels harder because it feels cold. It's not cold. It's consistent, and consistent is the thing that actually builds trust, not the explanation you'd have to give.

The only exception: if they're not pushing, they're actually scared or hurt, not just annoyed. That's not a hold-the-line moment. That's an "okay, give me a second, let me tell you enough to feel okay" moment. You'll know the difference by how they're pushing, not just that they're pushing.