Ugh it always turns out to be me.
“Setting boundaries inevitably involves taking responsibility for your choices. You are the one who makes them. You are the one who must live with their consequences. And you are the one who may be keeping yourself from making the choices you could be happy with.”
Henry Cloud
I thought boundaries were about other people. Other people’s issues. I thought setting boundaries was meant to stop other people from doing things I didn’t want them to do.
I thought my boundaries were meant to stop others from crossing lines that mattered to me. I thought my boundaries were meant to keep people from hurting me, running over me, being disrespectful or unkind to me.
But my boundaries are all about me.
They’re about me recognizing when people cross lines they haven’t been invited to cross.
They’re about me not tolerating unkindness or abuse.
They’re about me not putting up with disrespect.
They’re about not letting myself do things that aren’t good for me. They’re about stopping myself from going to my extremes. They’re about protecting myself from my poor beliefs and behaviors.
They’re meant to protect me from me, from my disbelief in myself, from doubting my worth, from extreme caretaking, from ingrained but unhealthy behaviors.
A neat side effect is that they also protect me from others. When I set clear boundaries for myself, I automatically remove myself from some situations and interactions that aren’t great for me.
But it’s a secondary effect. It’s not the point.