The Birth of My First Boundary

Not caving in and going back to my husband was the first boundary I had ever set with him. But it was more than that: It was the first boundary I’d set with anyone in my entire life. It was the first time I ever thought purely about my own needs, the first time I ever chose myself over another person. It was huge.

And that one step inspired me to set more boundaries. Necessary ones. Leading up to my divorce, I eventually told my husband that I wanted four weeks straight of no contact whatsoever—no emails, no voicemails, no Facebook messages. I also told him that I would not respond to threats—period. (Unfortunately, it had come to that.)  It was so difficult for me to send that email to him that Cheryl Richardson and Debbie Ford literally had to help my finger press “send” on my laptop. Setting such a firm boundary was not in my repertoire.

It was just two weeks before my husband started emailing and calling me again. Empowered by the boundary I had set in my first email, I sent him another stating that the four-week period would start over every time he contacted me. I gave him the date, time, and number to call a month later when I would have my therapist on the line with us on a conference call. I also let him know that I would not speak with him again unless a third party was present.

Leaving my marriage and getting him out of my head felt like what I imagine it might feel like to leave a cult. As my mind began to clear and settle, and as my habit of reactivity and walking on eggshells began to lessen and loosen, setting boundaries became easier.

On the day we were scheduled to reconnect, he did not call the conference line at the appointed time. Instead, he called my cell phone and left repeated voicemails. The messages started soft and sweet and built to full-blown rage and threats when I didn’t respond. Gratefully, Cheryl and my sister had made a pact to listen to his voicemails for me and only relay what I absolutely needed to know. This prevented the toxicity from entering my system and weakening my resolve.

With their help, I was able to stick to my guns. On June 15, 2010—another date I will never forget—I decided I was never going back.

The months that followed were a blur. I filed for divorce, met with lawyers, went through a painfully long mediation, agreed to a settlement, and got the dissolution decree.  During all of that time, my husband and I never spoke or saw one another. I was finally able to set a boundary—and keep it.

Having set my own boundaries for the first time, I was no longer reacting or responding to someone else. I was suddenly able to act from a clean, clear place. It was amazing. But while I felt stronger in some ways, I also felt like a young colt trying to walk for the first time—which is fitting, since I was indeed birthing a new identity. My legs felt gangly, like I could barely stand. Of course, I did learn to stand on my own two feet again, and this book is a testament to that.

It took some time, but it happened eventually.

So, take heart! When you set new boundaries, you may at first feel as though you have a new pair of legs. You might feel off balance, but it won’t last forever. Yes, it can be very scary to operate from a place of what you want, especially when you’re a people-pleaser like me. As children, we learn to respond in a way that brings us the least stress and trouble—and that often means allowing ourselves to be moved by others’ wants and needs. But as adults, we have to learn to get past our ingrained fears and make clear choices.

Most of us have an inner dialogue that tells us we’re not enough, that we’re not lovable. Refusing to set healthy boundaries is one of the primary ways we express that belief. If we want to live fulfilled lives, however, we have to let go of the belief that the needs and opinions of others are more important or valid than our own. We have to stop taking it personally when someone disagrees with us. We have to stop believing that if we disagree with someone or ask for what we want, we’ll end up alone and unloved.