“Insist on a constant connection with one person: yourself, who knows where to set boundaries every day, with every individual.” — Martha Beck, Oprah.com
“Sure thing, Martha.” — Me
Last year, I found myself in a pickle after leaving my kiddos with a guest while I hopped in a cab to drop off some homemade meals for a new friend—her husband was quite ill and she was juggling three little ones. I had to take a cab because I had lent my car to a buddy who needed it to pick up his family from the airport. Plus, I had taken time off work to entertain our guest, a relative of my husband’s, while he was busy at his job.
I’m not sharing this to paint myself as a hero (though feel free to view me that way). I genuinely wanted to help. But looking back at that chaotic afternoon, all I can see is the stress glistening on my forehead, my shoddy time management, an irritated guest, my own career slipping down the priority list, and some poorly prepped food (oh, and chili leaking from its container and trickling down my leg onto the cab floor—classic).
Do I feel good about assisting two families? Absolutely. Am I glad to have hosted family? For sure! But trying to check off every box that day ended up filling others’ buckets while draining mine.
Days like that are not only stressful; they often don’t yield productive results. When I overcommit, I frequently end up not finishing tasks at all. (Let’s be real: What’s worse than an overbooked person? An overbooked flake!)
So, I decided to take a breather from “doing the right thing.” I tried to stop saying yes to every bake sale, resume request, or ride to Ikea. This was tough; wasn’t saying yes the right thing to do?
We all know people who will never lend a hand when you need help moving or painting. I’ve even got relatives like that. And to be honest, I’ve often thought of them as jerks. I didn’t want to become one of them.
But I also couldn’t keep saying yes. I needed to lower my stress levels and their frustration with me by not taking on too much.
How could I start saying no without feeling like a selfish jerk? First, I had to be brutally honest: a significant portion of my “helping others” was really about wanting to be liked or seen as “good.” My giving was often an attempt to ease the guilt of having so much. So, was that not just a different flavor of selfishness?
Then, I pondered whether those with “clear boundaries” might actually be happier. They seem to know their limits, which usually align with their priorities and interests. Maybe they weren’t indifferent to others’ struggles; perhaps they just possessed that elusive trait—self-awareness. To thine own boundary-defined self be true.
Maybe my previous thinking was flawed. The ability to say no doesn’t automatically imply you’re not kind or good-hearted. There’s empathy, and then there’s action. Sometimes, empathy is enough.
I went cold turkey on commitments—which, let’s be honest, is rarely a good idea. Soon after I started my boundary-setting experiment, a woman I barely knew received heartbreaking news about the sudden death of a family member right in front of me. We were separated only by my laptop, which was flashing reminders of an impending deadline. She was visibly shaken, and I felt awful for her. But I also felt an overwhelming stress about my work.
My instincts were at war with my newfound determination to prioritize my boundaries. I held her hand for a moment, asked a few questions, and then, as she steadied herself, I gently let go and returned to my work. She sat there, tears in her eyes, just two feet away.
I’m not proud of that moment. It was rude and heartless. If I could redo it, I would in a heartbeat.
So maybe the answer lies somewhere in the gray area. The idea that a community can accomplish what an individual cannot is lovely. Think of the traditional barn-raising, still practiced in some Amish and Mennonite circles. While not essential, it fosters a sense of community.
I recall being raised by a network of family friends and classmates’ parents who stepped in to help my single mom. After my grandma’s funeral, my extended family came together to whip up a delicious meal in the church basement. When my uncle passed away, I was deeply moved by the neighbors who brought over mountains of food with reheating instructions scribbled on masking tape.
In those moments, my family simply needed to be together; we didn’t have to place orders or navigate a world that didn’t understand our sadness.
Despite the personal costs, I hope to be there for others when they truly need it. I’ll learn where to draw the line (hint: it’s probably right before your sister’s kid’s best friend’s school origami fundraiser). I want to believe that when life throws me back into a storm, a delightful kale salad with toasted pepitas will arrive at my doorstep. I want to ensure I’ve made someone else feel cared for, just as I do in those moments.
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In summary, it’s vital to find a balance between helping others and maintaining your own well-being. Setting boundaries doesn’t mean you’re selfish; it’s about understanding your limits while still being there for those you care about.