No

Words to live and dance by: an occasional series

The idea for this article was sparked by a recent event. A young woman I know asked me for some woman-to-woman advice. She doesn’t dance tango, but works part time at a tango venue. A longtime dancer was pestering her to dance with him. She says he nagged her for a full 10 minutes and no matter how many ways she explained that she was working and that she doesn’t even know how to dance he wouldn’t let up, going so far finally as to pull her toward him by the neck of her shirt.

By her account she did stand her ground, pulling away and ignoring him from then on, but she consulted me later, I guess to see if I felt this was normal or acceptable behaviour, which of course it is not. I told her she had every right to say no and that she could have been even firmer and it would not have been a problem. She would have had every right to say, “Don’t touch me” or to outright push him away. I also told her she would have been within her rights to ask her (male) employer or coworker to intervene. Not that the guy should listen to a man more than a woman, but a guy like that often would.

This dancer has been around for decades and I know that he doesn’t respect boundaries. Many years ago he inappropriately slid his arm around my waist in a way that felt too intimate while I was standing watching a demo, and, not wanting to ruffle feathers or draw attention, I didn’t do anything, just stood there awkwardly until the performance was over and I could step away. Clearly, it bothers me to this day, both his invasion of my personal space and my failure to protect it. Now, he is a dancer who doesn’t use the cabeceo and doesn’t read body language. Even if you’re purposely avoiding him and have your back turned he’ll come right up to you, right up in your face for a dance. I know from experience. But now I also know he’s a good candidate for my practice of saying no and not feeling guilty about it.

I’m proud that I told the young woman to stand up for herself and that she had every right to say a firm no, even if it meant offending a client. Twenty or thirty years ago, I wonder if I would have given the same advice, or followed it.

Learning to say no has been a lifelong process for me.

I had a happy childhood and I have kind, loving parents. But they did not teach me how to say or to receive the word no. My mother sometimes refused me things, but if she did, I just went to my dad, who never did. Often when I wanted something, I just went straight to him. It was convenient for sure; I got extra lunch money or permission to do almost anything I wanted. But I missed out on some important lessons.

As a girl especially, it’s really important to know how to say no, unwaveringly and unapologetically. As a teenager and young adult, I learned that lesson too slowly and sometimes the hard way. Professionally, my people-pleasing personality informed a lot of my dealings early on in my previous career, and occasionally a more assertive colleague would give me a talking to, helping me see that it was OK to set boundaries and stand my ground. Then, as a parent, it became easier, when I had to stand up not just for myself but for my children. And once I became a business owner I really had to learn how to refuse unreasonable requests, with kindness, always, but also with firmness.

If you constantly say yes when you truly don’t want to, you can end up overloaded or doing things you really don’t enjoy. This can lead to chronic overload and, eventually, built-up frustration or resentment toward those making the demands. Learning to say no, meanwhile, can boost your self-respect while teaching others (and yourself) to value your boundaries and your time. In a tango context, this might mean seeking out more quality tandas but less quantity. As a result, you might leave some milongas feeling more satisfied and less physically exhausted.

Receiving nos gracefully has not been easy for me either. Outwardly, I do, always. Everyone has the right to refuse anyone, without explanation or justification. But I have realized in recent years that deep down, I don’t deal well with rejection, and that fear of rejection has affected me in many ways over the course of my life. When I was younger, I often held back from going for things I wanted, probably in large part because I was afraid of failure, or rejection. I didn’t pursue my ballet dreams in a serious way and it took me decades to finally go after my writing dreams. I’m better now at being a go-getter, because the successes I’ve had have taught me that if you try for something you sometimes get it. Sometimes. Not always. And still, when I am told no, when I don’t win that writing contest or when publishers reject my submissions, I take it hard and consider giving up every time.

In my romantic life, if someone even gives me a whiff that they might reject me, I shut the door fast and throw away the key. The kind of “You can’t fire me, I quit!” response, except it’s “You can’t break up with me, I’m breaking up with you first!”

In tango, I went after my dream of owning my own school and made it work for 18 years, against all odds, advice and risk of failure. As I said, I’ve made progress. But I still take every professional rejection pretty hard. If an event or a class is not well-attended it is emotionally crushing for me. I don’t show it, and intellectually I know that not every attempt can be a success, especially in this fickle business, but it’s difficult for me not to take it personally. Socially, it’s hard for me, too. If I feel someone has purposely avoided my mirada, or if they outright say no to me, even kindly, I give up on them fast, almost always deciding that it means they don’t like dancing with me. I will rarely try more than once — and never more than twice — if I feel I have been rejected.

This is not good. Such defence mechanisms are a sign of a fragile ego, I know. And they might cause me to lose future connections (or dances) over what might have been a timing issue or a personal reason that had nothing to do with me. I’m aware and I’m working on it.

All this brings me once more back to the subject of the traditional, non-verbal mirada-cabeceo invitation system, which eliminates the need to say no outright. It respects people’s personal space, forces us to read and respect body language and makes every dance a mutual agreement, allowing leaders and followers to dance with those they want to dance with rather than those they might feel obliged to dance with.

Some people who don’t like the cabeceo system say that dancers need to learn to receive nos gracefully, so verbal invites should be just fine. True enough, but the reality is that it’s hard for a lot of people to give a blunt, direct no, without excuses. And when the established rules of the game dictate the cabeceo system yet you insist on using direct invites, you have to be prepared to receive direct refusals, and many people are really not.

The incident I mentioned above is a glaring example.

So what is the takeaway from all this?

That it’s always OK to say no, without guilt and without explanation. And that it’s essential to accept being told no, with grace and maturity both inwardly and outwardly. In a dance this close, intimate, even, respecting boundaries is more important than ever. Lines can blur, touch can cross them, and it can take very little to move someone from feeling comfy to icky or unsafe.

Finally, this: If a dancer is insistent, ignores your no, or goes so far as to violate your personal space, call out their behaviour and feel free to report them to the event organizers.

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More in the “Words to live and dance by” series:

Letting go

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May 19

My life as I knew it blew up a little more than a year ago. If you know me or you follow me, you might already know that. How it happened is not such a unique story; it’s kind of a clichéd one, actually. But it led to me having to let go of a lot all at once, from my most significant and long-term romantic relationship to my professional identity and a lot of other things along the way. Letting go can be really, really hard. But it can also be a process that teaches us valuable life lessons, ones that can also be carried over into our tango lives. And then tango turns around and helps us along right back.