The Boundaries I Didn’t Know I Needed Until I Hit Them
and I hit them
I used to think boundaries were for other people. People who were overwhelmed. People who were disorganized. People who needed color‑coded planners and inspirational water bottles to get through the day. I assumed I could simply push through whatever came my way with a little grit and a lot of caffeine. It worked for a while. Then it didn’t.
The first boundary I hit was physical.
My body started sending messages that were not subtle. Fatigue that felt like someone unplugged me from the wall. Anxiety that arrived without an invitation. A liver that decided it had opinions. I kept trying to negotiate with all of it, as if my body were a coworker who could be persuaded with a well‑timed joke. It turns out bodies do not negotiate. They tell the truth long before we do.
The next boundary was emotional.
I discovered that I could not carry every worry, every need, every request, and every expectation without something inside me starting to fray. I had been treating my inner life like a storage unit. If something did not fit, I shoved it in anyway and hoped the door would close. Eventually the door refused to budge. I stood there staring at the mess and realized I had to start sorting through what was actually mine to hold.
Then came the spiritual boundary.
I had been trying to live as if faith meant never reaching a limit. I thought trust required endless capacity. I thought maturity meant always being available. I thought God expected me to be some kind of spiritual multitool. What I found instead was a quiet truth that surprised me. God was not asking me to be limitless. God was asking me to be honest.
The boundaries I hit were not punishments. They were invitations. They asked me to slow down. They asked me to listen.
They asked me to stop pretending I could do everything without consequence.
They asked me to consider that maybe the world would keep spinning even if I rested.
They asked me to believe that my worth was not tied to how much I could carry.
I started noticing the small signs that a boundary was approaching.
The sigh I let out before opening my email.
The way I avoided certain conversations because I had nothing left to give.
The moment I realized I was volunteering for things out of guilt instead of joy.
The quiet resentment that crept in when I said yes to something I knew I should have declined.
These were not failures. They were signals.
The more I paid attention, the more I realized that boundaries are not walls. They are doors.
They open into healthier rhythms.
They open into relationships that feel mutual instead of draining, into work that aligns with who I am instead of who I am trying to impress.
and they open into a faith that feels lived rather than performed.
I used to think boundaries were selfish. Now I think they are a form of stewardship.
They protect the parts of me that are fragile.
They protect the people I love from the version of me that shows up when I am stretched too thin.
They protect the work I care about from being done with half a heart. They protect the quiet places where God speaks.
The boundaries I did not know I needed have become the ones I trust the most. They remind me that I am human. That I am not meant to carry everything. That rest is not a luxury.
They remind me that saying no is sometimes the most faithful thing I can do. They remind me that God meets me at the edge of my capacity, not beyond it.
I am still learning.
I still overcommit. I still underestimate how long things take. I still think I can squeeze one more task into a day that is already full. But I am learning to pause. I am learning to listen. I am learning to honor the limits that keep me grounded and whole.
The boundaries I did not know I needed have become the ones that keep me alive.
They are not the end of my freedom. They are the beginning of my peace.
As You Find Me (AYFM) is where Brad Hachez - a visionary neurodivergent creator - explores tech, faith, health, & life. Join the journey to streamline productivity, deepen relationships, & reflect on purpose with resilience, presence, and servant-hearted growth.