Finding Solace

It’s a question that sounds simple, almost casual, until you sit with it long enough for the truth to rise. Most of us don’t learn boundaries as children. We learn how to brace. How to wait. How to read the room before we read ourselves. Our nervous systems become little soldiers, standing guard long before we understand what we’re guarding against.

As adults, we wonder why our bodies still tighten at the sound of a storm, or a phone call, or a familiar name. We wonder why our hearts race even when nothing is wrong. But the body remembers what the mind tried to outgrow. It remembers the nights we waited for headlights in the driveway. It remembers the moments we felt responsible for keeping the world steady. It remembers every time we swallowed our needs to keep the peace.

Boundaries are not walls. They’re not punishments. They’re not declarations of war. Boundaries are simply the way we tell our nervous system, You’re safe now. I’m here. I’m listening.

Sometimes a boundary is silence. Sometimes it’s distance. Sometimes it’s choosing not to answer a message right away. Sometimes it’s letting someone else’s disappointment exist without rushing in to fix it. Sometimes it’s saying, “I hear you,” without offering yourself as the solution.

And sometimes a boundary is internal — a quiet promise to yourself that you will not abandon your own peace for anyone, no matter how familiar their footsteps once were.

When we ask, What boundaries would keep me safe? we’re really asking, What does my body need in order to unclench? What does my heart need in order to trust me? The answers are rarely dramatic. They’re usually soft. Rest. Space. Time. Honesty. A slower pace. A gentler tone. A pause before reacting. A willingness to disappoint others rather than betray yourself.

Healing the nervous system isn’t about becoming fearless. It’s about becoming faithful to yourself. It’s about recognizing the early tremble of unease and responding with care instead of criticism. It’s about choosing environments, conversations, and relationships that don’t require you to shrink.

You don’t need permission to protect your peace. You don’t need a reason that others understand. You don’t need to justify the boundaries that help your body feel safe. You only need to honor the truth that rises when you ask the question.

What boundaries would keep you safe?

Your body already knows. Your job now is to listen — and to choose yourself with the same devotion you once gave to everyone else.