Lessons from Women Who Trust Themselves

By Melanee Evans

I’m the sort who will take you at your word. If you say yes to me, I believe you mean yes.  If I think you aren’t arriving at your yes at 100%, I might question you about it until you land comfortably in your decision.  In my book, a resolute no is much more appreciated than a half-hearted yes.

I’m not interested in:  I should’s, have-to’s, uh-huh’s, or nah’s. I’m interested in:

I choose to,
I wholly own my choice and the consequences,
yes, or no,
and I need to check in with myself and see if that works.

Women, in my experience, are far better at half-hearted yeses than men. Seeking to please, we extend ourselves even while resentment, frustration, and exhaustion brews.  Sometimes these emotions are directed towards others, but at the core, the deep dissatisfaction lies with ourselves.  We wish we had the chutzpah to say what we mean, like, “are you kidding me? There’s no WAY I will agree to that!”

Have you ever watched women who gracefully decline invitations without excuse or fanfare?  It’s a beautiful thing.  Instead of giving twelve detailed reasons why they can’t comply with a request, they simply say, “Thank-you for asking, but that isn’t going to work for me right now.” They then go about their lives as if the conversation didn’t happen. No guilt.  No wondering how the other person took their rebuff.  Just grace and ease.

These women can have this elegance of communication because their intentions are clear.  They have paid the price of discovering their highest purpose in life, and they respect others enough to be kind and direct with them. Yes kind and direct, because I believe that true honesty is never cruel.  Brutal honesty is an oxymoron. All real honesty has as its soul, lovingkindness, even when such honesty circumcises the receiver’s heart and reveals her mask.

Those with even the smallest modicum of personal agenda, cannot give such honesty.  It must come from a place of complete other-centeredness.  It must come from a place that does not hold onto an attachment to the outcome, but allows and trusts the wisdom and accountability of others to rise up.

I’ve heard it said that the best way to make another trustworthy, is to trust them. Sometimes this means trusting them, even when we know their yes is half-hearted.  I’ve had many occasions to receive a 45% yes, and instead of calling their bluff, I choose to believe them.  I allow them their yes, even when I know they aren’t sure.  And I don’t take on the emotions of it.  I used to, but I don’t anymore.  I don’t because I know from personal experience, that when the pain of fractional commitment swells big enough, people begin getting honest with themselves and hence, others.

In the end, trustworthiness has little to do with trusting others, and much to do with trusting ourselves. The only way to trust ourselves is to allow our own hearts to be circumcised of fear, and to leave the mask in the dress-up box in favor of our own natural reflection.

Today I ask myself,
*In what way can I own my choices at 100%?
*What masks am I wearing because I’m afraid of people seeing the real me?
*Whom do I seek first when I want direction in life?
*Do I seek vertically, or horizontally?
*How easy or challenging is it for me
to speak the truth directly, at 100%, with lovingkindness?
*What areas of my life would I like to raise the bar of personal accountability?
*How would my body feel if I really trusted my own intuition and judgment?

Haiku to my baby

By Melanee Evans

May I kneel here now
your eyes aglow with starlight
the world awaits.

Haiku to Hugh

By Melanee Evans

i am the cold dawn
bare branches thrilled and quaking
awaiting your breath.

The Sweetness of Natural Wealth

By Melanee Evans

Lately I’ve been feeling unusually content. I told Hugh as much when he took me to a Mexican restaurant last weekend. Normally, I enjoy my food, but am conscientious about calories and health. This time was different.

“Do you have any idea why I’ve primarily been wearing dresses and skirts the past few months?” I ask.

“No idea,” he says.

“Well, I’ve gained a few extra pounds, and I’m not willing to buy pants that fit,” I confess.

And?” he looks at me with those eyes, expecting a dissertation on the philosophy of feminine fashion.

“And frankly, I don’t care. I feel perfectly fine.”  I scoop a dollop of guacamole onto my fajita, and add sour cream for good looks.

“You are fine,” he jokes. “And your curves are great.”

That’s nice and all, but I sincerely don’t care what he thinks at the moment because I feel so good. I sit there on the lumpy bench in our modest town, and sense this wakeless, succulent, interior self-acceptance in a way I’ve never felt. Never have I savored my food so wholly as in that moment.

After a leisurely dinner, we thank the waitress with a happy tip, as Hugh puts his arm around my satisfied waist on our way out. I tell Hugh that Socrates was right. Contentment is a natural wealth. He smiles and nods, already knowing.

Back Flip

By Melanee Evans


Could it be possible?

I think I’m coming back.

Back from a long hiatus in the forest.

Back flips on the beach.

Positively yes.

Fragrant Friendship

By Melanee Evans

What smells so good in here? Hugh asks as he walks into our bedroom
today after work, making his way to me through piles of books
by my bedside and kissing me on the forehead.

I return the kiss and shrug.

“Must be my little bloom,” he says, pulling the satin
covers snug around my neck and closing the blinds
to shade me from the sun.

No knowledge of why his wife is in bed at 5:30pm.
No critique. No concern about dinner or disarray.
Just consideration and care for me.

And oh how I love him.

My husband with his never-ending tenderness.
My husband with the sweetest of eyes.
My husband whose constant attention
is on the needs of others always. Always.

May the fragrance of our love
bloom and grow forever, mon ami.

Je t’aime.

Humming Orchids

By Melanee Evans

Just because my husband irons and cooks,
leaves me love notes every other day,
and sends me on week-long vacations,
doesn’t mean i’m always up
for a swing in the park or afternoon tea.
Just because i dumped my baggage
into the pitch of night and now bathe
under a star studded sky
doesn’t mean a cartwheel and a smile
are always in order.
Just because you burnt your toast,
lost your cat in the fire,
and broke-up with your boyfriend
all on the same day,
doesn’t mean I have to fix it.
Though I’ll probably want to.
Just because I can hear flowers sing,
touch lightning with my tongue,
smell the rising apocalypse and
read your soul with a looking glass
doesn’t mean i’m not meant for this place.
It just means sometimes I am quiet-
the ears of my heart riveted
to humming orchids
as I sit in my Amish rocker
convincing myself to stay.

Brain, where art thou?

By Melanee Evans

No thoughts tonight. No words.
Where is my brain? Really now.
Perhaps it is tumbling between
little girl leotards, dresses,
and swimsuits in the dryer next
to me. Could it be sprouting
in the window with Lily’s
preschool bean and sunflower plant?
Or tossed in the jumbled basket of
baby dolls, rock collections, and
science experiments? Maybe it got
dissected in the dishwasher disposal
along with the day’s orange rinds
and leftover seafood salad. Seriously,
I want my brain back. I want to think
intelligent thoughts again. I want to
have something to say to Hugh when he
comes home, other than how happy I am
the dog didn’t chew our sprinkler cords
again, or how many loads of laundry
remain to be washed.



By Melanee Evans

I have nothing to say tonight
my words quiet as a farm horse.
It’s been a full day.
Ancient Greece, pink floral
apron, bread rising in a
sunny window, yarn doll,
picnic on the grass with my
babies, ballet lessons, bean
soup from scratch, a single hug
from Hugh, twenty girl craft party,
an a-ha that what I most desire
I already have.


Two minute poetry. Give it a whirl.

By Melanee Evans

I should be doing something
besides sitting here in my
yoga pants sipping hot cocoa
American Idol in the background
wishing wisdom would rise to
the surface like marshmallows
in a sea of sweet. maybe i should
fly to the moon then i’d see myself
more clearly a little speck, a flint,
a shimmering orb awaiting the next
bounce from the end of a child’s
bubble wand a firefly buzzing in
a jar a hopscotch toss slid
across hot pavement a silver
skipping stone its ripples dancing
down rivers like a vibrating musical
note. bring the wings, the rockets,
i’m outta here.

Yes and Yes
Tropical Leaf Green Long Small

© 2016 Hello Quiet.