I can’t say no to work. If I’m asked to write, show up to, or cover something, I’m there. I might be tired, I might have the flu, I might be repressing emotions associated with personal disaster, but I will work—always. I mean, RuPaul said I better, and Missy Elliott said it was worth it. Also, I’ve never really had the option not to, so I don’t know how to say “I can’t.”

I’ve needed to work since I started to babysit. My parents sit comfortably lower-barely-middle-class, so from the days of $2/week allowances, I learned that nothing (but love and food) would be handed to me. If I wanted to go to university, I’d have to pay for university. If I wanted to travel, I’d have to pay for the flight myself. My parents helped me where they could and were more than willing to do so, but I had to pay them back ASAP because they were giving me money they needed. Even when a personal shit-storm descended a few years back, my parents were happy to offer me my old room, but weren’t able help with the rent I couldn’t afford to pay. Which is fine – this hustle is what kept me pitching, writing, and reminding myself not to be a baby-bitch. But more on that later.

When I was 15, I was a horrible student but a decent-ish worker. I picked up shifts at McDonalds religiously (where I worked—I didn’t just show up and hope for the best), got written up only for talking too much (and not keeping my shirt tucked in), then quickly moved onto retail where I sold shoes while bored and hungover.

About a year later, I found myself at Future Shop, where I was the worst worker I’d ever be (and proud of it). I got busted at the movies after calling in sick during my first week, I earned the nickname “Chatty” because I couldn’t shut up, I introduced the term, “V-Card” when the topic of swiping anybody’s came up, and I was eventually told that if I called in sick again, I couldn’t come back to work at all. (Which of course led to me lying down in an aisle when I had strep throat and couldn’t get a doctor’s note in time. If I infected anyone, I’m sorry.)

Which is why when I left to be a hostess at The Keg at age 18, I vowed to turn over a new leaf. Despite my first shift falling on the night of the 2003 Black Out (I was an hour late), I worked harder than I ever had before: I showed up with laryngitis, I accepted the pagers customers threw at me when their table was late, I abided by the obscene dress code, and only talked back to a customer once (then apologized even though it was his fault). By the time I left for Rona Home & Garden a year later, I was a bona fide workaholic: I worked split shifts, got promoted to cash supervisor in less than a year, wept in the break room when I refunded $3000 to a con artist, and supervised the entire store when a former employee killed himself after getting fired for stealing. Thus, when American Eagle called, I answered—I was ready.

For four diehard years, I worked there like my life depended on it. (It did.) I opened the store, I closed the store, I called the janitor when our backroom toilet overflowed and left a carpet of poop on the ground. I eventually worked both at AE and a bank, putting in 12-hour days for about three months because I needed the money. When I left to focus on writing, this is the mindset I kept.

Which is why saying “no” to things is hard. Like, really hard. Like, I actually haven’t said no to a professional opportunity without an “I will physically not be in the same place as you” excuse until this week. And even this week, it was because I couldn’t be out of town for a certain amount of time because a family health situation. And I hated it. Because the whole time I just kept thinking of Future Shop and Rona and American Eagle: if I didn’t take this proverbial shift, then I wouldn’t get any more at all. Every editor or producer would find out and tell the others and my career would be over, and my V-Card joke would be stolen and every backroom toilet would overflow forever.

Obviously that’s not how it works. For one thing, I don’t work at those places anymore. Secondly, I’m an adult. And as an adult, responsibilities change. Life changes. Work ethics change. And only an unreasonable monster would say, “Well then you’ll never work in this town again” because you want to make sure your Dad’s emergency contact (aka you) is nearby in case of emergency. In fact, even if you do work in retail, it’s unreasonable to assume that you’ll suffer because you physically can’t take on another task. The people who make those unrealistic demands exist everywhere, but honestly? Fuck them. Their shit has to do only with their obsession with control—and if you work hard, and you are kind, then you will still always have work, and you will always do well. Even if somebody on a power trip or an unreasonable person tries interrupt your trajectory briefly.

Unsurprisingly, my “I’m sorry I can’t” was met only with best wishes and understanding, because we are both grown-ups and that’s how being a grown-up works. And the same thing will happen if I have to opt out of something again, whether the reason is health-related or because I need a break. (Even though as I typed that, my instinct said, “No! Take all the work you can! WORK 2 LIVE, ANNE!!!”) It’s a learning curve, yes. But there is nothing wrong with prioritizing friends, family, and/or yourself to make sure that you can keep working, and that you don’t collapse in on yourself like a dying star. It’s important to know when saying no is appropriate, and it might be more often than you think. No one is going to descend from the ceiling and say, “Oh, then I guess you’re not part of the team.” (Like a favourite former supervisor of mine used to.) They’ll respect your choice because they expect the same.

Unless, of course, they bust you at the movies. In that case, you’re on your own.