Why protecting yourself can look like cruelty to people who benefited from your lack of limits
“If your boundaries make you the villain, wear that title with pride.”
— Unknown
They were right. I had changed. As I described in last week’s article, I am not the same person I was when I drank or before grief, trauma, recovery, therapy, and loss forced me to take an honest look at myself.
I do not respond to everything the same way anymore. I do not tolerate the same behavior, and I no longer endlessly sacrifice myself just to prove that I am kind or loyal.
One of the biggest reasons people believe I have changed is because I finally began setting boundaries.
For most of my life, I was the person others called when they needed money, reassurance, somewhere to stay, someone to listen, or someone to fix the latest crisis. I was a giver, a provider, a problem-solver, and a listener.
It was not that I did not know I deserved respect. My mind had become so foggy and twisted from everything I had experienced that I stopped trusting my own judgment…. or caring about myself.
Before recovery—and even in the beginning of it—I was incredibly easy to manipulate and gaslight. I did not fully understand what those words meant or recognize the patterns while they were happening.
People could turn things back on me by saying, “You were drunk,” “You do not remember it right,” or “You did this too.” Because there were times when I had been drinking, I questioned my memory, my reactions, and whether I had the right to be upset at all.
Only after gaining distance and seeing the patterns repeat did I recognize how often my reality had been questioned and how easily I had been convinced that I was the problem.
I also constantly made excuses for people. I considered their trauma, stress, addiction, mental health, or whatever else they were going through. I spent so much time explaining their behavior that I rarely stopped to consider what it was doing to me.
That is why the people who truly cared about me became so frustrated when I returned to the same situations. They could see the damage clearly while I remained almost completely blind to it. They could not understand why I could not comprehend that I deserved better.
Honestly, I could not understand it either. I knew I would never want someone I loved to accept the same treatment, but when it came to myself, I continued making excuses, questioning my judgment, and believing that maybe I was the problem.
Over time, some people became accustomed to having access to my time, emotional support, energy, and money. Because I had given so much without limits, they began treating what I offered as something they were entitled to rather than something I chose to give.
Learning to set boundaries was one of the biggest—and most uncomfortable—parts of becoming that different person.
“You are not required to set yourself on fire to keep other people warm.”
— Unknown
I Usually Waited Until I Was Already Angry
I want to be clear: I am not saying none of it was my fault. I made mistakes, especially while I was drinking. There were times when my reactions were unhealthy, and I am responsible for them. But I am talking about specific toxic situations in which I allowed harmful patterns to continue for far too long.
I ignored disrespect, made excuses, said yes when I wanted to say no, and accepted apologies without changed behavior. The hurt did not disappear. It turned into resentment.
By the time I finally spoke up, I was not responding to one isolated incident. I was reacting to months—or sometimes years—of frustration. I was angry, emotional, and exhausted.
Sometimes I yelled. Sometimes I cursed. Sometimes I broke shit. Apparently, I have even been known to throw bookshelves—allegedly, lol. Sometimes I said things more harshly than I should have. I still had to take responsibility for those reactions.
The problem was that my reaction often became a way to avoid discussing everything that had led to it. The conversation shifted to my tone, my anger, or mistakes I had made in the past. Because I already questioned myself so easily, I would feel guilty, apologize, and sometimes abandon the boundary altogether.
Then the original behavior continued.
For a long time, I thought the explosion was the boundary.
It was not.
The explosion was often what happened because I waited too long to establish one.
“To a toxic person, your self-respect becomes an insult. Your distance becomes betrayal. Your healing becomes an attack.”
— The Heart’s Diary
When The Rules Changed
Once I began setting boundaries, some people acted as though I had suddenly become cruel.
From their perspective, I had changed the rules. I had always answered, helped, listened, provided money, forgiven quickly, and returned after arguments that should have made me walk away sooner.
Then I began saying no. I stopped automatically fixing every crisis. I stopped giving money simply because someone asked. I stopped allowing people to scream at me and then continue as though nothing had happened. I stopped accepting apologies that were never followed by different behavior.
To people accustomed to unlimited access to me, those changes felt like punishment. They were not.
I could not keep sacrificing my mental health, finances, time, and stability to keep everyone else comfortable. The entitlement—and honestly, the audacity—was difficult to comprehend. Some of these people acted as though the world revolved around them and were so accustomed to having their wants prioritized that they treated any boundary as a personal attack.
I had people ask me for money after insulting me the last time we spoke. When I said I needed an apology first, the response was essentially, “No, I meant every word,” while they still expected me to give them the money.
They expected me to set aside my dignity and hurt so they could get what they wanted, with no acknowledgment of how little I was taking care of myself, how much I had already given, or how selfish their expectations had become.
They did not see my boundary as protection. They saw it as an inconvenience because I was no longer stepping aside and allowing them to do whatever they wanted.
“Those who get angry when you set a boundary are the ones you need to set boundaries for.”
— J.S. Wolfe
Boundaries Are Not Ultimatums & Forgiveness Does Not Require Access
When I first started setting boundaries, I felt a lot of guilt.
I worried that I was being harsh, dramatic, or unforgiving. I questioned whether I had explained myself clearly enough and wondered whether I should give the person one more chance.
That guilt often disappeared quickly once I saw the reaction. Instead of trying to understand why I needed the boundary, some people became angry that I had set one at all. They focused on what they were no longer getting from me instead of the behavior that had made the boundary necessary.
A boundary is not about controlling someone else. I cannot force another person to communicate respectfully, tell the truth, apologize, get sober, seek help, or take accountability.
A boundary is about what I will do when someone continues behaving in a way that harms me.
It is not, “You are not allowed to yell at me.”
It is, “If you begin yelling at me, I am ending the conversation.”
It is not, “You have to apologize.”
It is, “I am not continuing this relationship as though nothing happened while you refuse to acknowledge how you treated me.”
It is not, “You have to change.”
It is, “I cannot keep participating in this pattern if nothing changes.”
That is not an ultimatum. An ultimatum pressures another person to make a certain choice. A boundary explains the choice I will make to protect myself.
You are free to make your choices, but I am also free to decide what I will continue allowing in my life.
Originally, the boundary with my father was the most difficult one for me to set. That is no longer the case, but for a long time, it came with an incredible amount of guilt.
Recovery teaches forgiveness, accountability, letting go of what we cannot control, and working through resentment. For a while, I questioned whether keeping my distance meant I was failing at those lessons.
Was I holding onto a resentment? Was I supposed to keep giving him another chance because recovery teaches compassion? But this was not about refusing to forgive something that happened years ago after he had taken accountability and changed. He was still doing the same things that had caused most of the damage in the first place—and in many ways, his behavior had gotten worse.
My boundary with my father was not based on one argument or a single mistake from the past. It came after a lifetime of erratic, threatening, and toxic behavior that created fear and instability for everyone around him.
When I describe his behavior as violent, I am referring primarily to the emotional and psychological intimidation. He never physically assaulted me, but there were threats, especially when we had both been drinking, and moments when he acted as though a physical fight was about to happen.
Forgiveness does not require reconciliation or continued access, especially when someone remains dangerous, toxic, and unwilling to change. It is incredibly difficult to have the father I had. It was unfortunate that I did not grow up with a strong example of what a truly good, honest man—or father—looked like. The closest examples I had were my two uncles, and I am so grateful I did have them, but they were only around to a certain extent. And I definitely was not going to tell them what was happening at home.
There was no sustained accountability or meaningful change that made allowing my father back into my life healthy or safe.
I can work toward releasing anger without pretending the harm did not happen.
I can hope he changes without placing myself close enough to be harmed again.
Addiction, trauma, or mental illness may contribute to someone’s behavior, but they do not excuse violence and toxicity.
Recovery did not teach me to tolerate abuse to prove I had forgiven someone. It taught me to be honest, take responsibility for my own actions, and stop participating in destructive patterns. It taught me not to allow abuse in my life.
In this situation, keeping the boundary is part of my recovery—not a betrayal to anyone else.
“If you don’t enforce your boundaries, you are teaching people that your words mean nothing.”
— Unknown
Boundaries Require Follow-Through
Boundaries mean nothing without follow-through. Simply stating one does not make it real. I had to be willing to act when someone crossed it.
That was difficult because I did not want to lose people. I wanted them to understand why I was hurt, respect what I was asking, and choose to treat me differently. I wanted the relationship to improve without having to create distance from someone I cared about. But those choices were not in my control, and in most situations, things did not go the way I wanted or expected.
I have since learned that expectations can quickly turn into resentment, especially when I expect someone to respond with the same honesty, accountability, or concern I would have shown them.
Some people were used to me eventually giving in. They assumed I would stay and keep fighting until the situation was resolved, no matter how long the argument lasted or how badly it affected me. Or they assumed I would eventually act like nothing had happened.
I could say I was no longer lending money, but when the next emergency happened, they expected me to help anyway. I could say I needed space, but they expected my guilt to bring me back before they ever had to acknowledge what happened.
For a long time, that guilt worked. I would convince myself that maybe I had been too harsh. I would worry that walking away made me cruel. I would focus so heavily on how the other person felt about my boundary that I stopped thinking about why I had needed it in the first place.
Every time I abandoned a boundary to relieve my guilt, I showed the other person that they did not actually have to respect it. They only had to wait until I became uncomfortable enough to give in.
Following through does not always mean permanently cutting someone out of my life.
Sometimes it means ending a phone call.
Sometimes it means refusing to provide money or solve a problem. Sometimes it means taking space until the other person is willing to have a respectful conversation.
Sometimes it means packing my things and leaving.
And sometimes, when the same harmful behavior continues without accountability or change, it means walking away for good.
“If someone walks away because you set a boundary, let them keep walking. They were using you, not loving you.”
— Nedra Glover Tawwab
Some Relationships Will Not Survive Your Boundaries
One of the hardest truths I have accepted is that setting a healthy boundary does not guarantee a healthy response.
I used to hope that if I explained myself clearly enough, the other person would understand. I hoped that once they knew how deeply something affected me, they would care enough to change—or at least try.
Sometimes that happened. But mostly, it did not. And when it did, it normally did not last for long.
Some people can listen, take accountability, and work toward a healthier relationship. Others view any limit as rejection, punishment, or betrayal. They would rather lose the relationship than acknowledge their behavior or accept that they no longer have unlimited access.
Setting a boundary does not always mean I want the relationship to end. Often, I set one because I still care. A boundary can leave room for an apology, changed behavior, and rebuilding trust.
However, repair requires more than one person. I cannot be the only one explaining, apologizing, forgiving, and rebuilding. An apology matters, but consistent behavior matters more.
Real change does not only appear when someone is afraid of losing access to me. It continues after the immediate crisis has passed.
The other person may also tell the story differently. They may leave out everything that happened before the boundary and only say that I stopped answering, refused to help, packed my things, or walked away. In their version, I may be selfish, cruel, dramatic, or unforgiving.
I will never forget when a good friend said something along the lines of, “How are you so cold that you can just cut people out?” But they did not understand my history, how far I had already been pushed, or the psychological state I was in by the time I finally walked away.
What looked cold from the outside was usually the end of a very long process that no one else had fully seen. Because I spent so much of my life needing people to understand my intentions, being misunderstood can still bother me. My first instinct is often to explain everything, provide context, and defend myself.
But I am learning that I do not have to convince everyone that I am a good person. The people who truly know me have usually seen how much I gave, how many excuses I made, and how long I stayed before reaching my limit. And they know I am a person you want in your corner.
That does not mean I handled every situation perfectly. I can acknowledge my mistakes without accepting responsibility for the entire situation. Both things can be true: I may regret how I reacted, and the boundary may still be necessary.
I cannot control the story someone tells. I can only control whether I abandon myself again to keep a relationship that works only when I have no boundaries.
“Self-sabotage is just a failure to set a boundary with your impulses.”
— Unknown
Some Boundaries Are With Myself
Not every boundary I have needed to set has been with another person. Some of the most important ones have been with myself.
I have had to stop volunteering to fix problems no one asked me to solve. I have had to pause before automatically saying yes, especially when helping someone would cost me money, time, sleep, or peace I could not afford to lose.
I have had to remind myself that guilt does not mean I am doing something wrong. Sometimes guilt is simply the discomfort of behaving differently after years of putting everyone else first.
I have also had to stop reopening doors just because I missed someone. Missing a person does not erase what happened, and loneliness does not make an unhealthy situation safe.
Setting boundaries with myself means paying attention to patterns I already recognize. It means not ignoring warning signs, repeating the same excuses, or convincing myself that this time will somehow be different when nothing has actually changed.
It means asking myself whether I am helping because I truly want to or because I am afraid of being called selfish, cruel, or uncaring if I say no.
Other people are responsible for respecting my boundaries, but I am responsible for honoring them too.
“When someone oversteps your boundary, they are telling you exactly how much they value their own comfort over your well-being.”
— Unknown
In Conclusion
I am still learning how to set boundaries without overexplaining, apologizing for them, or questioning whether I have the right to protect myself.
I do not always get it right. Sometimes I wait too long or become angry before I speak up. I still have to take responsibility for my reactions, my words, and the ways I contribute to difficult situations.
But accountability does not mean accepting every bit of blame.
Forgiveness does not require continued access. Loving someone does not mean allowing them to repeatedly hurt me, and understanding why someone behaves a certain way does not make the behavior acceptable.
As I explained in last week’s article, I have changed. I no longer believe being a good person means giving people unlimited access to my time, money, energy, and emotional support. I no longer believe I have to stay in every argument until it is resolved, pretend nothing happened around other people, or return to situations that repeatedly destroy my peace.
Boundaries have cost me relationships I hoped could be repaired. They have forced me to grieve people who are still alive and accept that some situations were never going to end the way I wanted or expected.
But they have also helped me build a life that feels safer, calmer, and more honest. Some people may still see my boundaries as selfishness, punishment, or rejection. I cannot control the version of the story they choose to tell.
I can only control whether I continue abandoning myself to make their version of me more comfortable.
So yes, I have changed.
I finally understand that I can care deeply, forgive, take accountability, and still say, “You cannot continue treating me this way and have the same access to me.”
That does not make me the bad guy. It means I finally understand that I matter too.
Thanks for reading! Talk next week!
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“Love yourself enough to set boundaries. Your time and energy are precious.”
– Anna Taylor
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