How Much Is Enough?
Boundaries are easy in theory. Family makes them complicated.
Growing up, I was taught to be a convenient child.
My parents were proud of me. I learned to walk and speak when I was just one. I learned to read before I went to school. I graduated with flying colors and earned a scholarship when I entered university.
I was told to sit still, keep quiet, be polite to strangers, and be nice to relatives even when I didn’t like them. I was taught to respect people simply because they were older than me, even when they had done nothing to earn that respect.
For many years, I was told how to behave, and I did my job pretty well.
I was always “too young” to have my own opinion and “too immature” to make my own choices. I was told that “adults know better,” even when I was an adult myself.
Moreover, these “adults” were always right, and I was usually wrong, even when I had nothing to do with what had happened.
I was “too irresponsible.”
“When you finally grow up, you’ll understand.”
Even when I was married, living in another city for almost ten years, and had a master’s degree.
Maybe that’s part of the reason for the constant feeling of not being enough that I’m still trying to challenge every day. But that’s not the point of this story.
I think many of you, no matter your age or where you’re from, can probably relate to what I’m writing about.
I learned the word “boundaries” only four years ago when I started seeing my therapist. Setting and protecting them has turned out to be both a funny and difficult journey.
I’m learning to hear myself.
To see myself.
To appreciate myself.
I’m learning to say “no” without coming up with an excuse or feeling guilty about it. I’m learning to ask myself what I want and to give myself love and grace.
And as beautiful as it sounds, it also hurts.
So many tears have been cried. So many arguments have been had. So many insulting words have been thrown around — and just as many have landed.
I’ve become an example for some people.
Selfish and bitchy for others.
Some people have left my life. Some are afraid of me.
It’s been a long road, and I haven’t arrived yet.
Here’s another obstacle I’m facing, and right now I’m not sure whether I should walk around it or bulldoze straight through it with sheer stubbornness.
The question is: how much is enough?
Imagine this.
You meet a new person and try to be nice. You’re polite, interested, kind, maybe even sweet. The other person seems the same, so you relax a little. You let them into your life. You share thoughts and feelings. You become closer.
Everything feels natural until they do something that makes you freeze.
Maybe they hurt you with words. Maybe they hurt you with actions. Maybe they insult you directly or behind your back.
You react immediately. You shut the metaphorical door of your heart. Maybe you even slam a real door in their face. You say, “I don’t want to see you anymore,” and go cry into your pillow.
Or maybe you’re a different kind of person. Maybe you try to talk it through. You explain how you feel, why it hurt, and try to understand their reasons. Maybe they explain themselves. Maybe they even say they’re sorry.
You accept the apology. But something has changed. You can’t fully trust them anymore.
Time passes. They behave well for a while. Then another occasion comes along. Another metaphorical arrow. And this time you think, I should have never forgiven them.
One shot might be an accident. Two shots start looking like a pattern.
Maybe you don’t leave after the second time. Maybe it takes three, five, or ten. But once you’ve learned about boundaries and self-worth, you stop letting people treat you badly.
You set rules. And if they keep crossing the line, they leave.
No endless chances.
No excuses.
Seems logical, right?
At least it does to me.
The moment my father passed away, I realized there was no one left to protect me.
I had to protect myself.
And the people I love.
Some people said they’d never thought I could be that mean.
Others said they’d never seen me that angry or heard me roar like that.
Of course not.
The convenient child had to grow up and take care of herself.
I simply didn’t have enough mental or emotional energy left to understand everyone’s reasons and intentions.
They played with fire one more time.
They got burned.
And I didn’t care.
I realized I had been giving away too many chances.
I was better off alone than surrounded by people I was constantly trying to please.
There were two situations involving two different people in the weeks after my father’s funeral that made me furious.
Those people did something stupid. They hurt me again — for what felt like the hundredth time — and I didn’t hesitate to set those bridges on fire.
For the first time, I felt like I deserved to breathe. Like I deserved to stop being a good and convenient girl and start being real. Like I deserved to keep only the people who genuinely cared about me. I was happy with that decision. I thought that was finally enough.
But life is a funny thing.
It always has its own plans.
The people I mentioned aren’t part of my immediate family. But they’re closely connected to the people I love most. A few months passed. Nobody apologized. Nobody even tried to talk. Yet through other family members, I keep being asked to make peace and give them another chance.
I can’t avoid family gatherings forever. And I don’t want my loved ones caught in the middle.
But I don’t want to be hurt either.
On one side, enough is enough. If these people keep hurting me, keep triggering me, keep crossing the same line over and over again without trying to understand, apologize, or make things right — then they’re dismissed.
That’s the boundary I’ve set.
On the other side, I love my family with all my heart. And I never want them dragged into arguments, tension, or those quiet wars where nobody speaks but everyone is shooting angry looks across the room.
As they say, never say never.
So after months of running away from people who bring out the worst in me, here I am, facing the question of what to do next.
Am I being too harsh?
Too judgmental?
Or am I simply trying to protect myself?
Will you help me solve this riddle and share your experience?
I’m making some tea and getting ready to read your thoughts.
It's messy.
Sometimes, in our need to protect ourselves, we come out fighting and that usually leaves a mess. And sometimes that mess can't be cleaned up or away. It leaves a stain. Like a scar.
We remember the wound: it cautions us forever more.
We might venture forth again, but carefully, more aware of the dangers, better prepared to manage them - safely for us.
The scar reminds us that a boundary is necessary is keep us safe.
In this instance, if the people don't want to respect the boundary, can't respect it, won't, then do what is safest for you.
Nothing in life is fixed solidly. The rocks that are worn down by wind and water tell us this. Time changes everything. I think it's okay to wait, be patient with ourselves and others. While we keep ourselves safe.
I’ve been the inconvenient one in my family, too. For me, boundary questions come down to: what am I willing to do?
I can’t control anyone else’s behavior or choices, I can’t choose who’s invited to someone else’s gathering, I can’t force anyone else to understand my pov. But I can choose not to be where someone else is. I can choose whether to engage. I can choose when it’s time to step back or move away. I can choose how and when to respond.
Focusing on what *is* in my control always helps me figure out what I want to do next. <3