Originally published at PsychCentral.com Many of us hesitate to say no to others. With mindful tips like these, saying no is an emotionally intelligent skill anyone can master — really! It’s just two letters, and yet saying no can feel really hard — even complicated. For many of us, saying no doesn’t just feel awkward. It feels wrong. So, whenever anyone asks you to do almost anything, you might blurt out, “Yes! Sure! Of course! Happy to!” But in reality, you may feel the opposite. Maybe you’d rather be doing about a thousand other things. Or maybe you’re OK with saying yes, but it’s not the best thing for your daily bandwidth or mental health. Here’s the good news: Saying no is a skill you can sharpen. The more you say no, the more natural it’ll feel. Here are several ways to build the skill of saying no in different situations — even if it feels like you’re doing it from the ground up.

Why saying no feels hard

For starters, it’s important to realize that if saying no is challenging for you, you’re not alone. As social psychologist Dr. Vanessa K. Bohns writes in a 2016 research review examining people’s influence over others, “Many people agree to things — even things they would prefer not to do — simply to avoid the considerable discomfort of saying ‘no.’” For example, a series of small studies, published in 2014, found that when asked, many people would acquiesce and commit unethical acts, such as telling a white lie or vandalizing a book — even when they felt these acts were perceived as wrong. As social creatures who want to be part of the herd, we also want to preserve our relationships. So, we might blurt out yes because we don’t want to be seen as difficult, says Dr. Emily Anhalt, a clinical psychologist and co-founder of Coa, an online mental fitness club. Or, we don’t want to disappoint a good friend or hurt someone’s feelings, notes Dr. Nicole Washington, a board-certified psychiatrist and the chief medical officer of Elocin Psychiatric Services. Another reason yes pours out of us? Our past. According to Anhalt, while growing up, you might’ve not learned to advocate for yourself. “It’s also possible that you say yes because you deeply want to help. But you forget that your ability to accommodate others isn’t an endless well,” Anhalt says. In other cases — like a work situation — we might worry that saying no says something about our ability to accomplish a certain task, adds Washington. Put another way, we think declining makes us look incompetent.

Why saying no is a good — no, great — thing

When you struggle with saying no in personal or professional situations, it helps to remember the self-preservation in passing things up. “Saying no is one of the best forms of self-care we can engage in,” Washington says. She notes that saying no supports us in:

• creating space in our schedules to rest and recharge
• engaging in activities that actually align with our current goals
• setting boundaries with loved ones and colleagues

Ultimately, saying no gives us greater navigation over our lives, says Anhalt. This grants us the opportunity to build a fulfilling, meaningful life on our own terms. After all, we can only have power over ourselves — so, let’s exercise that power. Read the full article at PsychCentral.com

We use conversation with others to learn to converse with ourselves. So our flight from conversation can mean diminished chances to learn skills of self-reflection. These days, social media continually asks us what's "on our mind," but we have little motivation to say something truly self-reflective. Self-reflection in conversation requires trust. It's hard to do anything with 3,000 Facebook friends except connect. As we get used to being shortchanged on conversation and to getting by with less, we seem almost willing to dispense with people altogether. Serious people muse about the future of computer programs as psychiatrists. A high school sophomore confides to me that he wishes he could talk to an artificial intelligence program instead of his dad about dating; he says the A.I. would have so much more in its database. Indeed, many people tell me they hope that as Siri, the digital assistant on Apple's iPhone, becomes more advanced, "she" will be more and more like a best friend - one who will listen when others won't. During the years I have spent researching people and their relationships with technology, I have often heard "No one is listening to me." I believe this feeling helps explain why it is so appealing to have a Facebook page or a Twitter feed - each provides so many automatic listeners. And it helps explain why - against all reason - so many of us are willing to talk to machines that seem to care about us. Researchers around the world are busy inventing sociable robots, designed to be companions to the elderly, to children, to all of us. One of the most haunting experiences during my research came when I brought one of these robots, designed in the shape of a baby seal, to an elder-care facility, and an older woman began to talk to it about the loss of her child. The robot seemed to be looking into her eyes. It seemed to be following the conversation. The woman was comforted. So many people found this amazing. Like the sophomore who wants advice about dating from artificial intelligence and those who look forward to computer psychiatry, this enthusiasm speaks to how much we have confused conversation with connection and collectively seem to have embraced a new kind of delusion that accepts the simulation of compassion as sufficient unto the day. And why would we want to talk about love and loss with a machine that has no experience of the arc of human life? Have we so lost confidence that we will be there for one another? We seem increasingly drawn to technologies that provide the illusion of companionship without the demands of relationship. Always-on/always-on-you devices provide three powerful fantasies: that we will always be heard; that we can put our attention wherever we want it to be; and that we never have to be alone. When people are alone, even for a few moments, they fidget and reach for a device. Here connection works like a symptom, not a cure, and our constant, reflexive impulse to connect shapes a new way of being. Think of it as "I share, therefore I am." We use technology to define ourselves by sharing our thoughts and feelings as we're having them. We used to think, "I have a feeling; I want to make a call." Now our impulse is, "I want to have a feeling; I need to send a text." So, in order to feel more, and to feel more like ourselves, we connect. But in our rush to connect, we flee from solitude, our ability to be separate and gather ourselves. Lacking the capacity for solitude, we turn to other people but don't experience them as they are. It is as though we use them, need them as spare parts to support our increasingly fragile selves. We think constant connection will make us feel less lonely. The opposite is true. If we are unable to be alone, we are far more likely to be lonely. If we don't teach our children to be alone, they will know only how to be lonely. To make room for conversation, we can create sacred spaces in the kitchen or dining room. We can make our cars "device-free zones." We can demonstrate conversation to our children. And we can do the same thing at work where we are so busy communicating that we often don't have time to talk to one another about what really matters. Employees asked for casual Fridays; perhaps managers should introduce conversational Thursdays. Most of all, we need to remember - in between texts and e-mails and Facebook posts - to listen to one another, even to the boring bits, because it is often in unedited moments, moments in which we hesitate and stutter and go silent, that we reveal ourselves to one another. I spend the summers at a cottage on Cape Cod, and for decades I walked the same dunes that Thoreau once walked, looking at the water, the sky, the sand and at one another talking. Now they often walk with their heads down, typing. Even when they are with friends, partners, children, everyone is on their own devices. So I say, look up, look at one another, and let's start the conversation.

The term "psychologist" and "psychiatrist" are often used interchangeably to describe a person who conducts psychotherapy. In fact,these two professions are not interchangeable. There are significant differences between these professional roles. Examining the educational background required for each profession can be helpful in understanding their differences. Psychiatrists go to medical school like other physicians. After three or four years they receive their M.D. degree. They spend the next four years in a residency which generally includes inpatient and outpatient rotations in general medicine, family medicine, pediatrics, neurology, and psychiatry. This residency does not usually include specific training in psychology and psychotherapy. After they complete their residency and pass the state board exam, these physicians can obtain a license to practice. As physicians, they are able to prescribe medicine and admit patients to hospitals. Clinical Psychologists typically spend five to seven years receiving graduate training in psychology in order to obtain a doctoral degree, (most commonly a Ph.D. but may be a Psy.D. or an Ed.D.), in clinical or counseling psychology. Psychology is the study of people: how they think, act, react, and interact. All course work is related to understanding every aspect of human behavior and the thoughts, feelings, and motivation underlying this behavior. Two years of supervised clinical experience follow receipt of the doctorate degree when candidates are trained to diagnose, perform psychotherapy, and help people understand themselves and address their emotional issues. Following these two years of clinical experience, they may take the state licensing exam. Only after they have met the above requirements and passed the state licensing exam are they able to practice clinical psychology and call themselves a "psychologist." Some psychologists and psychiatrists go on to receive further specialized training after attaining their Ph.D. or M.D. Degrees. Advanced programs in child, adolescent, family, marriage and couples therapy, group psychotherapy, psychoanalytic psychotherapy, and behavioral and cognitive therapy may require at least one to three years of additional coursework and supervision. A clinician who has obtained one or more Certificates in advanced training programs is among the most highly trained mental health professionals. Psychotherapy is conducted with individuals, groups, couples, and families. Psychotherapists help people to overcome stress, emotional problems, relationship problems, and troublesome habits. Psychologists treat people by providing psychotherapy focused on helping people understand the root of their problems and what they can do to change destructive behaviors, grow emotionally, and enhance their lives. Most psychiatrists in private practice focus on symptom relief using medicine to correct chemical imbalances that affect their clients. Most psychologists do not prescribe medicine. However, some psychologists who have taken advanced training in psychopharmacology can prescribe medicine as a part of their psychotherapy treatment.