Rules vs. Boundaries
Boundaries are all over the place these days, and because of that, there can be a lot of confusion about what they actually are. You’ve probably heard the difference between a rule and a boundary: a rule is something we place on others to manage their behavior, while a boundary is something we place on ourselves to stay in alignment with our values.
They’re a way to protect your peace and your space.
But they’re also a pause.
A breath.
A moment to check in and ask:
Where does this live in my body?
Am I still me if this continues around me?
So, for instance, you might have a rule that people take their shoes off when they enter your house. As a boundary you might say: if someone chooses not to remove their shoes, they’re not welcome in your home.
The control doesn’t lie in forcing others to comply, but in deciding what you will do in response.
A boundary doesn’t demand someone change.
It’s about what you will do if your boundary is crossed.
And a boundary is only as powerful as your willingness to follow through, even though it is, more often than not, uncomfortable. When we don’t follow through on a boundary, we’re not just letting something slide, we’re eroding our own self-trust. And that’s often the hardest boundary to rebuild. We often cross our own boundaries in this and many other ways.
But it is important to remember that boundaries are not about controlling others; boundaries are about respecting yourself. As Prentis Hemphill once said “Boundaries are the distance at which I can love you and me simultaneously.”
Reflective Prompts
Take a moment to think about or even jot down how you would answer these questions, then expand to see how I answered them.
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Rules I’ve set for myself tend to show up around diet and exercise, or how I manage my space. Things like, “I’ll feel better if I just clean this one thing,” which might be true, but often, it’s more about soothing my inner critic than actually regulating my nervous system. These "rules" sneak in under the guise of structure but are rooted in judgment, not support.
Sometimes, we disguise rules as boundaries, not just to control others, but to control ourselves. To feel safe. To manage discomfort. There’s no shame in that instinct; it’s human. But rules, even the ones we place on ourselves, can quietly erode trust when we fail to meet them. They set us up for disappointment by tethering us to an ideal version of ourselves or others.
Boundaries, on the other hand, invite us back into relationship, with reality, with our needs, with the truth of the moment. They’re flexible enough to hold compassion, and firm enough to protect our peace.
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This one might be harder to answer, especially if you’re someone who’s used to overexplaining (hello, fellow neurodivergents).
For me, I can think of two recent moments:
The first was a short trip to visit a friend. It was meant to be a quick visit, barely 24 hours, which already felt tight for me. I need more time to feel settled and present in a space. I wanted to be there for her, especially knowing what she was going through. But my flight was delayed for hours, and my anxiety was rising with each passing minute.
She texted me saying she could get my flight refunded if I chose not to come. I wanted to cancel. And I did. I didn’t explain, or justify, or soften it. She honored my response, and I went home. A past version of me would’ve agonized, overridden my needs, and gotten on that plane anyway.
The second was smaller, but just as important. I’ve been going through a lot lately, personal growth, emotional unraveling, and launching The Bridgework Project, and I’ve felt deeply wrung out. One day, I was lying on the couch, staring out the window, when a friend messaged to say they were in the car and open to a call.
I didn’t answer. Not because I didn’t love them or want to connect, but because I didn’t have the capacity. And I didn’t explain that right away. I honored what I needed. Later, I circled back, feeling rested and regulated. A past self would have felt immense guilt or forced the conversation. This time, I chose peace.
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This one hits close.
It still shows up for me in the aftercare of boundary-setting, and especially around rest.
Recently, I redefined a friendship dynamic very intentionally. I even had the conversation. But each time the relationship shifts again, I feel a pull toward guilt. I still love and care about this person. So every time I draw a new line, I question myself.
The past two months have been full: leaving my company after 20 years, selling my house, moving into an apartment, launching this project. On paper, no one would question why I’m exhausted. But that doesn't stop the guilt when I need to rest.
And the deeper work? It’s been in self-compassion. In looking at all the ways I twisted myself to be palatable for others. In forgiving that version of me for what I felt I needed to do to survive. That’s real work. It’s invisible and exhausting.
Sometimes, I find myself on the couch binge-watching Veronica Mars, The Pitt, or Ted Lasso. And I have to actively remind myself:
Rest is productive.
Recovery is essential.
I’m making progress. These moments are no longer filled with that paralyzing, anxious “should-ing” that made rest feel impossible. But I still have to walk myself through it. I still use small systems, sometimes it’s literally texting a friend to say “Today, I’m intentionally doing nothing.” That makes it feel like a decision, not a failure.
Your Turn
Let your answers breathe. Let them sit with you. You don’t need to change anything today. This part, this noticing, this pause, is the work.
Notice how your body responds. Tomorrow we will look deeper into the red flags within ourselves and what your body’s been trying to tell you.