boundaries are repairs in disguise

some people draw clean, polite lines. others need to slam doors or go fully ghost. mine are more chaotic than that — they change shape depending on what i’ve got left to give.

i’ve told people “please don’t do that,” and watched them do it anyway. i’ve laid out clear rules and had them laughed off or ignored. i’ve said “no” in a calm voice and been called selfish or dramatic. sometimes i’ve had to cut someone out for something they thought was small — because they didn’t realize how many other people had crossed that line before them.

setting boundaries has cost me relationships. but keeping none would’ve cost me my peace.

some days, a boundary looks like a locked door. other times, it’s just silence — not explaining, not defending, just not letting someone help themselves to my space. not everything is theirs to touch.

people don’t have to like it. i’m not building a fan base. i’m building something safe. every time i say “that’s not okay with me,” it becomes a small repair to the structure i live in.

and that little repair is the thing that reminds me i’m allowed to stay whole.