You’re Not Bad at Boundaries. You Were Never Taught Them.

If you’ve ever told yourself, I’m just bad at boundaries, you’re in very good company.

It’s one of the most common conclusions kind, capable people come to when something keeps going wrong and no one ever explains why.

But let me offer you a different starting point:

You’re not bad at boundaries. You were never taught them.

And there’s a meaningful difference between those two things.

Why “bad at boundaries” feels so convincing

When you look back, it can seem obvious.

You say yes when you mean no.
You take things on you don’t have time for.
You replay conversations later and think, Why didn’t I speak up?

From the outside, it can feel like a pattern you should have outgrown by now. Especially if you’re competent, thoughtful, and good at learning other skills.

So the story becomes:
Everyone else can do this. I must be the problem.

But boundaries aren’t intuitive.
They’re not absorbed by osmosis.
And most of us grew up learning politeness, not self-protection.

What you were probably taught instead

Many kind people were taught—explicitly or implicitly—that being good meant:

• Not causing discomfort
• Being agreeable
• Anticipating others’ needs
• Keeping things smooth
• Putting the collective first

None of that is wrong.

The problem is that we rarely learned the companion skill:
How to honor our own limits within relationships.

So when a situation requires both kindness and clarity, your nervous system hesitates. Not because you don’t care—but because you care deeply and don’t want to get it wrong.

Boundaries aren’t instincts. They’re skills.

No one expects you to pick up a violin and play beautifully without lessons.

But with boundaries, we somehow expect ourselves to know:

• When to speak
• How much to explain
• What tone to use
• How to stay kind without overgiving

That’s not instinct.
That’s training.

And if no one modeled it for you—at home, at school, or at work—of course it feels awkward now.

That doesn’t mean you’re failing.
It means you’re learning something later than you should have had to.

Why this feels especially hard at work

Work adds extra layers:

• Power dynamics
• Performance expectations
• Fear of being seen as difficult
• A desire to be respected and liked

And because work is where many of us learned to earn safety through competence, it’s often where boundary struggles show up most clearly.

You don’t want to disappoint.
You don’t want to be misunderstood.
You don’t want to risk the reputation you’ve worked hard to build.

So you default to what you know works:
You carry more.

The good news you might not have heard yet

Here it is, plainly:

Boundaries are not about personality.
They are about language, timing, and practice.

You don’t need:

• More confidence
• A tougher exterior
• A different temperament

You need words that feel natural in your mouth.
You need permission to pause.
And you need repetition—without shame when it’s messy.

That’s how skills are built.

Why “just speak up” is unhelpful advice

If it were that simple, you’d already be doing it.

Most kind people don’t stay silent because they’re passive.
They stay silent because they’re weighing too many things at once.

You’re trying to:

• Be fair
• Be thoughtful
• Preserve relationships
• Avoid unnecessary conflict

All while feeling the pressure of the moment.

Freezing in that situation isn’t a flaw.
It’s your system asking for support.

A gentler way to think about boundaries

Instead of asking,
Why can’t I do this like everyone else?

Try asking,
What support would make this easier?

What would change if boundaries weren’t something you had to invent on the spot?

What if having words ready wasn’t a weakness—but wisdom?

One small reframe to take with you

Boundaries aren’t walls.

They’re containers.

They hold what you can offer so it doesn’t spill into exhaustion or resentment. They allow your generosity to stay generous, instead of becoming an obligation.

And containers can be learned.

Slowly.
Imperfectly.
With practice.

Before you move on

If you’ve been carrying the belief that you’re just “bad at this,” I hope you can loosen your grip on it—just a little.

Nothing is wrong with you. You’re not late. And you’re not alone.

You’re learning a skill most people were never formally taught—and doing it with care. That counts for something.

And you don’t have to figure it out every time, all by yourself.