Some of us didn’t learn boundaries. We learned tone. We learned how to scan a room for tension before stepping inside. We became experts at mood prediction, emotional buffering, and speaking in a voice that wouldn’t provoke. Not because we wanted to be liked, but because our nervous systems were wired to avoid explosions, disappointments, or cold silences that lasted for days.

We weren’t taught to notice what we needed. We were taught to disappear those needs before they became inconvenient to someone else. We became pleasant. Predictable. Quiet. It was survival dressed up as kindness. And we carried it for years, sometimes not even noticing that we never truly arrived in our own lives.

Now we’re starting to come back to ourselves. Carefully. We’re learning that boundaries aren’t mean. That saying “I don’t like that” doesn’t make us difficult. That asking for space or rest or truth doesn’t mean we’ve failed at being loved. We’re untangling old habits. Not by blaming who taught them, but by deciding we want more than just survival. We want presence. We want peace that doesn’t require self-abandonment. And we’re getting there – slowly, gently, and without shame.