Yesterday, during one of those casual back-and-forths in one of the group chats I’m on, someone shared a post about boundaries—how they’re really just a reflection of self-respect. And it struck something deep.
You see, I’ve been on a quiet, ongoing journey of remembering myself—of redefining and reconnecting with the person I am beneath all the roles I hold. And a big part of that journey, though often uncomfortable, is learning to set boundaries again. I say again because somewhere along the way, I lost them. Not all at once. But gradually.
Motherhood, especially, has a way of stretching you thin and wide. It’s not just the late nights or the giving—it’s that your sense of self can slowly dissolve into everyone else’s needs. And so, even though I know boundaries are good—necessary, even—it’s been hard to draw lines when the people crossing them are the ones I love most: my kids, my partner, my family.
At some point, I stopped practicing the art of self-protection. And like any muscle left unused, I got weak at it. What began as sacrifice turned into self-neglect. And the idea of self-love—of tending to myself—began to feel selfish. Foreign.
But hearing that “boundaries are a sign of self-respect” did something different to me. It didn’t demand that I be soft or indulgent with myself—it simply reminded me that I, too, am deserving of the respect I so freely give others. That hit home.
Self-love still feels like a tender language I’m learning to speak. But self-respect? That feels clearer. Firmer. Like a grounding principle I can work with. And maybe, for now, that’s enough.
So this is where I am: building boundaries not to push others away, but to come home to myself. To show up for me.
To anyone else on this path—of redefining what it means to love yourself, to know yourself—it’s okay if the language doesn’t come easy. It’s okay if it doesn’t feel fully formed yet. Let how it feels to you in this moment be your guide. Let that be your starting point.
We can refine the definitions later. For now, just begin.