Just Guyton

We use the word boundaries a lot these days.

Set boundaries. Protect your boundaries. Respect other people’s boundaries.

But I sometimes wonder if we’ve gotten so used to saying the word that we’ve forgotten to talk about what it actually means.

So let’s talk about it.

A boundary is not me telling you how to live your life.

A boundary is me telling you what I will allow in mine.

There’s a difference.

You are allowed to have your own thoughts, beliefs, values, relationships, and opinions. I learned a long time ago that I have absolutely no control over how another person receives what I say. I can explain myself until I’m blue in the face, but how you interpret my words belongs to you.

And you know what?

That’s okay.

You choose for you. I choose for me.

The problem begins when either one of us decides the other person isn’t entitled to do that.

When we hear the word consent, most people immediately think about sex. But consent exists in everyday life, too.

Don’t share something I told you privately.

Don’t give someone my phone number.

Don’t post my picture without asking.

Don’t give someone information about where I am.

I’m not discussing that subject.

That person is not welcome in my home.

Please don’t involve me in that situation.

Those are boundaries, and underneath every one of them is the same basic idea:

You don’t have my permission.

You don’t have to understand why someone said no to understand that they said no.

You don’t even have to agree with their boundary.

You don’t have to understand someone’s boundary to respect it, and you don’t have to agree with someone’s boundary to honor it.

This is where things can get complicated, because sometimes the people who have the hardest time accepting boundaries are the people closest to us.

But I’m your mother.

But I’m your father.

But we’re family.

But I’ve known you your whole life.

Okay.

And?

Being related to someone doesn’t automatically give you unlimited access to their life.

It doesn’t give you permission to share their private information. It doesn’t give you a vote in decisions that aren’t yours. And it certainly doesn’t mean their boundaries disappear because you don’t like them.

Marriage changes some of those relationships, too.

Genesis 2:24 tells us that a man leaves his father and mother and is joined to his wife, and they become one flesh.

That doesn’t mean parents, siblings, children, or extended family stop mattering. It means marriage creates a family unit.

There are decisions that belong between spouses. There are conversations that belong inside a marriage. And nobody should assume they outrank somebody’s spouse simply because they were there first.

At the same time, marriage doesn’t erase individual autonomy either. A wedding ring isn’t an ownership certificate.

Respect has to travel in every direction.

And this is where I think people sometimes confuse boundaries with control.

“You aren’t allowed to do that” and “I won’t participate in that” are not the same statement.

You’re an adult. You can make your choices.

But I can make mine, too.

There are behaviors my husband and I don’t want close to our marriage. There are things we aren’t going to normalize in our inner circle simply because somebody else has decided they’re comfortable with them.

That doesn’t mean we’re controlling anybody.

It means we’re choosing our environment.

There are also certain values that matter deeply enough to me that if our beliefs are fundamentally incompatible, I may decide we’re simply not meant to have a close relationship.

I’m not required to argue with you until one of us changes our mind.

Sometimes the healthiest answer is simply:

You choose for you. I’ll choose for me.

Because respecting someone’s freedom to make a choice doesn’t require giving them access to your life after they’ve made it.

Suppose I tell you something privately and ask you not to repeat it.

You repeat it.

We talk about it.

Then I trust you with something else.

You repeat that, too.

Eventually, I’m going to stop giving you private information.

That’s not revenge.

That’s not punishment.

That’s me paying attention.

A boundary says where my limit is. Follow-through determines what I do when that limit isn’t respected.

Sometimes that means ending a conversation. Sometimes it means sharing less information. Sometimes it means changing someone’s access to your social media. Sometimes it means creating distance.

And sometimes it means ending a relationship.

Not every boundary needs a dramatic announcement.

Sometimes you simply adjust someone’s access according to what they’ve demonstrated they can responsibly do with it.

But there’s another side to this conversation that I think matters.

You are allowed to stop having a relationship with somebody.

You don’t need to turn them into a monster first.

If somebody actually hurt you, tell the truth.

If somebody behaved horribly, tell the truth.

If something happened, tell the truth.

But don’t manufacture a story because you think you need one to justify walking away.

From my Christian perspective, knowingly spreading falsehoods about another person isn’t boundary-setting. Scripture has a name for bearing false witness.

And if you’re going to drag your monsters out of the closet and throw them all over the room for everybody else to see, you better have receipts.

I keep mine.

Truth doesn’t need embellishment.

If the facts are bad enough, let the facts speak.

And if the facts aren’t there, don’t create them.

You don’t have to destroy another person’s character to justify removing them from your life.

Social media has added an entirely new layer to all of this.

My husband and I create content. I write publicly. We intentionally put certain pieces of ourselves online because we want people to read, watch, laugh, think, or engage.

That’s part of being a content creator.

But there’s something worth remembering:

Visibility is not intimacy.

Seeing someone’s content doesn’t mean you know everything happening in their life.

Knowing what somebody posted yesterday doesn’t mean you know them personally.

And public content is an invitation to view the content—not an invitation into every private corner of the creator’s life.

Some things belong to the audience.

Some things belong to friends.

Some things belong to family.

Some things belong inside a marriage.

And some things belong only to you.

Knowing the difference matters.

At the end of the day, I don’t need everyone in my life to think exactly like I do.

That would be a very boring world.

You can disagree with me.

You can think one of my boundaries is unnecessary.

You can decide you’d handle something completely differently.

That’s okay.

But respecting a boundary only when you agree with it isn’t much of a test of respect.

The real test comes when you wouldn’t choose that boundary for yourself—and you honor it anyway.

And if somebody else’s boundary means the relationship no longer works for you?

You’re allowed to have boundaries, too.

Maybe that’s what we forget.

Boundaries aren’t supposed to be weapons we use against each other.

They’re the lines that help us understand where one person’s autonomy ends and another person’s begins.

Consent says what I permit.
A boundary says where my limit is.
And my actions determine how I protect that limit.

You are free to choose what belongs in your life.

So am I.

And neither one of us has to become the villain for the other person to say no.

— GUYTON