Why the boundaries does not work if you set them out of fear?

We often perceive boundaries as hard "no"—as a line we must draw to avoid being hurt, exploited, or destroyed. But if you listen closely to the moment when that "no" bursts forth, it becomes clear: it's not an adult's choice, it's a reaction to internal anxiety. It's not about clarity, it's about fear.

A boundary set out of fear doesn't actually protect. It isolates. It's an attempt to sever contact, not maintain it. And outwardly, it may look right: you distance yourself, you say, "This isn't right for me," you walk away. But inside, there's no sense of support. There's tension, constriction, resentment, unexpressed disappointment, or helplessness.

A working boundary isn't screaming or running away. It's a point where you understand: "I'm here," "I feel comfortable, safe, alive." It doesn't necessarily sound harsh. Sometimes it's a gentle "I need to be alone right now," or "It's hard for me to talk about this, but I need you to know."💪

For a boundary to appear, contact is first needed. With the body. With what you feel.

And only then can you speak. Sometimes with words. Sometimes simply by choosing to stay in your own rhythm, not getting involved, not making excuses.

The border is not for fencing off 🚪

And in order to remain in living contact with oneself—and, perhaps, continue it with another. But not in destruction, but in respect.