Boundaries Don't Have to Push People Away
“You can’t talk to me about Stuart* anymore. That’s my boundary.”
Yes, a friend really said that to me. I guess it was a boundary of sorts. But like a lot of the boundaries I hear discussed, it was the kind purely designed to keep people out. Now, there’s nothing wrong with that. Unfortunately in this world, we have to have clear boundaries to keep bad actors from actively harming us. But I’m not interested in talking more about that kind of boundary. I want to talk about how to use boundaries as a tool for improving the relationships that matter most to us. I want to talk about how having boundaries doesn’t always push people away—it can bring people closer (in the ways we actually want).
Erecting boundaries that push people away
Years ago, a dear friend and I laughed together, cried together, and talked about our dating lives together. She meant so much to me that I used to imagine that if we both ended up old and single, that some day we would live together. Then one day, out of the blue, she changed our relationship with those two short sentences. “You can’t talk to me about Stuart anymore. That’s my boundary.”
Stuart was a person I’d been dating on and off—and yes, our relationship was a little complicated. But when she said that, I couldn’t figure out what just happened—I was incredibly confused, and really hurt. I tried to get clarification—was there something happening for her when I brought him up? Was the topic of dating itself too much? I just needed something to latch onto to try to make sense of such a specific carve out of what we could talk about. And all she kept saying was, “This is my boundary. I need you to respect it.”
But it didn’t feel like a boundary—it felt bewildering. It hollowed out the emotional resonance in our relationship. And all of my attempts to understand what was happening for her were simply brushed off. And each time I expressed how hurt and confused I was that there was no explanation, she simply said, “that sucks.” Ultimately, we stopped being friends.
I wish it had gone down differently. I wish desperately she would’ve come to me sooner and said, “hey, I know you have this thing with Stuart, but I’m actually really worried about you losing yourself in this relationship.” Or maybe… “sometimes it’s hard for me to hear about your dating life—it makes me really uncomfortable.” Or… whatever it was. It felt like instead of deepening our relationship by letting me know what wasn’t working, she used a really hyper-specific boundary as a test of my friendship… or maybe simply to push me away. It was presented as a scalpel but felt more like a cudgel.
The relational boundary
This is the difference between using boundaries as armor, and using boundaries to strengthen a relationship. Boundaries as armor require little vulnerability—just certainty and decisive action. Perfect for when you need someone to step back, for when you need to protect yourself, perfect for when your safety is the number one concern. But boundaries in the context of an important relationship are different. Relational boundaries are harder than armor ones. They require more of you. But getting your needs met without torching the relationship? That's the whole game.
Relational boundaries need to be attended to before too much resentment is built. For people pleasers, it’s really easy to think that by avoiding or delaying a boundary, you’re doing the other person a favor. “Oh, it’s not that bad,” you might tell yourself. But the truth is, delaying a boundary once you know something has to change only increases the possibility for confusion and hurt. If my friend had talked to me months sooner and let me know she wasn’t comfortable with how I spoke about my relationship, I wouldn’t have felt as blindsided by the request. Instead, I found myself replaying all of the conversations I had where she seemed to be cheerleading for me, and was utterly bewildered. That shook my trust as much as anything.
And just like “armor” boundaries, relational boundaries require consequences—but consequences that allow for human imperfection. In my example, I was asked to simply stop talking about “Stuart” with my friend. What wasn’t explicitly stated was that if I didn’t respect this “boundary,” we couldn’t be friends. It was the nuclear option. What if, instead, my friend said something like this: “If you bring up Stuart with me again, I will first gently remind you of our agreement. If you continue to bring up Stuart after that, I will simply say ‘I have to go now, I’ll talk to you later.’” Consequences should feel proportional to the boundary—and leave room for the relationship to survive them. Because staying in relationship with someone while upholding your boundaries enhances trust—it communicates that someone can make a mistake and you will not give up on the relationship.
Perhaps most importantly, relational boundaries require vulnerability. They require you to not just protect yourself, but in so doing also preserve and improve the relationship. I really wanted to understand where my friend was coming from—I was begging to have something real and feelings-based to contextualize the boundary, otherwise the request felt ungrounded. How could I be sure she wouldn’t add another person to the off-limits list? What if she actually didn’t want to talk about my dating life at all, not just this particular person? Without context, I couldn’t feel safe that new confusing requests wouldn’t follow. What I wish she would’ve said? Something like, “Talking about Stuart has made me really uncomfortable and reminds me of past relationships that hurt me. I really wish I could support you and hear all about it, but it’s just too hard on me.”
I’ve lived in one-bedroom apartments (or studios) for 16 years or so now. And for the vast majority of that time when my parents came to visit, I “of course” had them stay with me. Until I realized how hard it was on me to share a small space. Not only was it hard for me to share space, it was hard on me to never have a break from socializing and having to feel “on” or “available.” The problem wasn’t that I didn’t genuinely want to see and spend time with my parents—I did! (I’m very lucky to have wonderful parents.) The problem was I was depleting my own resourcing too quickly, and the time I spent with them no longer felt like quality time.
I decided to be brave, and we talked about it. I told them how hard it was on me, and that I really want to be able to show up and be delighted to see them. The next time they planned a trip out to visit, I asked them if they could stay at a hotel. And, because they are privileged enough to be able to afford that, they said yes. In their latest visit (just a month or two ago), not only did they stay in another hotel, but they were so considerate of my needs and how taxing the visits can be on me, that they would say things like, “ok, why don’t we give you some space and meet back up around dinner?” Setting this boundary completely changed my ability to stay in myself, stay resourced, and have a wonderful visit with them. It brought us closer.
I know how scary it can be to ask for what you need from the people you love—especially for people pleasers. (Hello, me too.) But here's what I want you to hold onto: you can get your needs met without pushing people away. Done right, a boundary might just bring you closer.
*Names have been changed to protect the innocent
