When “It’s Fine” Isn’t Fine at All

Note: This is clearly not my normal type of column. But on this occasion, I want to share a personal experience that, while involving nudity, holds some powerful lessons that I hope will be helpful for you in some small way.

I’m really disappointed in myself.

I did something I wouldn’t want my daughter to do. It wasn’t terrible—but it sure wasn’t brave.

Of course, no one is perfect. But in retrospect, I failed to do the very thing I often encourage others—especially women—to do: own their power and back themselves.

Even when it’s awkward.

Especially when it’s awkward.

To be clear, I’m fine. But I’m sharing this because in a similar situation, someone else might not be.

I booked an Airbnb in Middleburg, Virginia—a basement studio on a farm with a private pool. Just one night of solitude to recharge after an intense stretch of speaking, media, and travel.

After a peaceful summer evening, I asked the host if I could check out later to savor more solitude by the pool. She agreed to noon then later texted that a regular guest might stop by to swim after 11.

I didn’t love the idea of sharing the space—presuming he was coming to swim laps—but she was doing me a favor.

“Fine,” I replied.

The man arrived at 10:30 and asked, “Do you want me to come back later?”

I did but I didn’t want to be an imposition.

“No, it’s fine,” I said.

He pointed to a sign on the pool gate – ‘Swimsuits optional’. “You okay with that?”

“Fine,” I said again, unsure what I was consenting to, just wanting to avoid any more interaction.

He then asked to use my bathroom. That seemed kinda odd, but again:

“Sure, fine.”

I just wanted solitude. To read my book. To contemplate my life. To reflect in my journal. To talk to God and no one else.

A few minutes later, he returned. From the corner of my eye I could see he was undressing—fully… utterly… stark bloody naked.

Oh shit, I thought to myself. But did i say anything? No. I wanted to avoid all interaction.

After laying on the poolside lounge, he climbed onto a floating lounge, on his back, legs splayed wide.

Oh shit, I thought again. And again, I said nothing but kept my head down. I had zero desire to see what I knew could not be unseen.

Then I saw something glint. Curiosity won. I glanced over.

There he was—naked, legs splayed, wearing a large silver ring on his appendage.

W.T.?!*!

Instinct kicked in. I immediately packed up. As I veered for the gate, he called out:

“I hope I haven’t driven you away?”

“No, it’s fine… it’s fine… it’s fine,” I said without looking back

Two minutes later, I was in my car, heart pounding, head whirling. What the hell just happened?

Later, I messaged the host: “I left early. The man got naked. It felt very uncomfortable.” She apologized, offered a free return stay. Later she texted again. He said you’d agreed to no swimsuits. And technically I had—except I hadn’t.  But clearly, it was not fine. And I had no idea he’d take that as permission to be fully nude—much less fully exhibitionist.

So why do I share this now? Because at each moment, I had a choice:

• When the host texted.
• When he showed up early.
• When he asked about ‘swimsuits optional.’
• When he asked to use my bathroom (where I assume he suited up with his ‘jewelry’).
• When he undressed
• When he got into the pool and floated in full display

At no point did I say: “Hey sir, you know what? This is NOT fine.”

Why not? I’d like to say I’m an easygoing person. Accommodating. Agreeable. The kind who doesn’t make a fuss sharing a pool with someone—especially not on a blazing hot summers day.

The truth? Without realizing it, my default was to prioritize his wants over my own and to avoid an awkward moment.

By trying to avoid an awkward moment, I let someone cross a boundary by a country mile.

But in trying to avoid an awkward moment—or him thinking I was difficult or uptight—I ended up feeling violated and putting myself in a much more uncomfortable, and potentially vulnerable, situation.

And while I am a relatively empowered woman—not easily intimidated and pretty good at taking care of myself in situations that would make others anxious —in that moment, I was not in my power resulting in a man violating the boundary of basic respect and decency by a country mile.

Yes, this was a moment I froze. But it also exposed something deeper.

“The reflex to say ‘fine’ isn’t just personal—it’s cultural. And it costs us more than we realize.”

We’re shaped by culture. The reflex to say “fine” was not a wholly personal failing but learned behavior—especially for women, taught to be agreeable—even when uncomfortable. But unclear consent is not consent—especially when there are ambiguous expectations, a power imbalance, or a desire to just keep the peace.

This wasn’t one big ‘no.’ It was death by a dozen small ‘fines.’”

And micro-boundaries matter. This wasn’t one big “no.” It was death by a dozen small “fines.”

We all have moments when we freeze or fear wins—especially when we don’t see them coming. But if there’s one lesson that stands out from this experience for me it’s this:

Those moments we want to shrink back, stay quiet, or just say ‘it’s fine’ are often the exact cue to speak up.

I’m curious how this experience lands for you. Maybe you’re surprised that i wasn’t bolder and more asertvive frpm the get-go. Or maybe you totally relate. Or maybe you have another reaction. Either way, i’d love your thoughts and feedback.

• Have you ever said “fine” when everything in you wanted to say “no”?
• Or maybe you did what I didn’t—and braved an awkward moment to protect your peace or power? If so, what helped you do it?

I’m hoping my experience can be a learning moment for anyone who’s ever said yes or “fine” just to keep the peace only to regret it later. Clearly i’m still a work in progress when it comes to practicing my own “Be brave and back yourself” advice. Then again, aren’t we all?

If you’d lie some inspiration and encouragement to help you navigate your bravest path, please check out my book The Courage Gap: Five Steps to Braver Action (also narrated by yours truly on Audible).

And if you’re a podcast fan, take a listen to my Live Brave podcast!