The Power of Boundaries

Another request hits my inbox. Urgent, of course.

It’s from a colleague I admire, someone whose work I respect and whose success I want to support. The request itself is small. A quick review. A few minutes of my attention. Nothing unreasonable.

I tell myself I should make room for it.

Except I said that yesterday. And the day before.

As the pattern continues, I notice a familiar resistance. Sometimes it shows up physically, as a tightening or a quiet inward sigh. Other times it arrives as irritation, a sense of being interrupted, or the thought: Why is this landing on me again? However it appears, the message is the same. Something in me is already declining.

I try to push past it. This is what helpful people do. This is what professionals do.

But the truth is harder to ignore. I’m annoyed. Not with them, but with myself.

Because when I say yes against my own better judgment, I’m the one who pays the cost.

There is rarely a single moment when goodwill collapses. More often, it erodes slowly. Generosity thins, presence becomes strained and dutiful, and what began as kindness hardens into quiet resentment.

I used to think boundaries were about keeping people out. Over time, I learned something different.

Resentment is what happens when we say yes while our integrity says no.

I learned this earlier in my career, in a way that made the cost of staying silent unmistakable. A peer was assigned to help me adjust to a new role. She was capable, efficient, and generous with her time. At first, I was grateful. Her guidance helped me find my footing quickly.

But as the weeks passed, her support didn’t recede. It expanded.

She wasn’t my supervisor, yet she began directing work that was mine to lead. Speaking on my behalf. Positioning herself as the authority in decisions I was responsible for making.

I registered the shift gradually. Part of me felt crowded. Another part felt underestimated. Intellectually, I knew something was off even before I had the language for it.

So I asked to speak with her privately.

I was still new in the role, and she was known for being confident—sometimes condescending—in her style. I remember feeling nervous as I walked into the conversation, unsure how my request would land or whether it would be received at all.

My heart was pounding, but my voice stayed steady. I thanked her for her investment and named what I needed next: space to do the work on my own.

She paused, nodded, and stepped back. The relationship shifted—not dramatically or painfully, but into something more respectful and more sustainable.

Her support didn’t disappear. It simply found its proper boundary.

What surprised me was how much lighter I felt afterward. The tension I’d been carrying hadn’t come from the boundary, but from not naming it.

That situation clarified something essential. Agency is the ability to choose what is right for you, and to have that choice respected.

Without that respect, we don’t feel supported. Eventually, we retreat. And because people can’t read our internal signals, clarity sometimes has to be spoken aloud.

This is what boundaries protect.
Not distance, but dignity.

And dignity asks for reciprocity. If we want our sense of self-worth honored, we must also honor the agency and worth of others.

Boundaries aren’t only about honoring our own limits. They are also how we respect the agency of others. When we overextend, over-function, or agree out of guilt or fear, we quietly remove someone else’s opportunity to respond honestly, to adjust expectations, or to carry their share of responsibility. Clear boundaries don’t control others. They give everyone involved a truer set of choices.

Every boundary begins as a signal. For some, it’s physical. For others, it’s emotional fatigue, persistent irritation, or the sense that a line is being crossed without acknowledgment. These cues aren’t invitations to withdraw. They are invitations to speak with clarity.

When we honor these signals, something shifts. Respect becomes mutual and trust deepens—not because we pulled away, but because we stayed with truth intact.

Boundaries don’t require confrontation. They require clarity. Sometimes that clarity sounds like:

“I want to give this the attention it deserves, and I can’t take it on right now.”
“I can help with part of this, but not all of it.”
“That doesn’t work for me. Here’s what I can offer instead.”

These words may feel awkward at first. But they signal something essential: your wellbeing belongs in the conversation.

As Terry Real writes, “If you are giving more than you want to give, and receiving less than you want to receive, something is out of balance.” Boundaries restore that balance.

The world doesn’t need us to be endlessly agreeable. What it needs instead is authentic presence, rooted in self-respect and guided by goodwill.

Kindness lasts longer when it has a backbone.

A Practice Invitation

This week, notice the first signal. The hesitation. The irritation. The quiet no that arrives before words do.

Pause there.

Ask yourself what honoring that signal might protect, not only for you, but for the relationship.

Boundaries aren’t the end of caring. They’re what allow caring to endure.

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And that’s The Gist of It™: insights on relational courage — the courage to know and be known by others.
These practices help relationships breathe rather than tighten, deepen rather than fracture.

Thank you for reading. If this resonated with you, I’d be honored if you’d forward it to someone who might appreciate it. They can subscribe below:​

Marilyn Gist, PhD