My journey to discovering boundaries started right after the birth of my first child. It was the day after I returned home from the hospital following a C-section. I was cracked open physically, emotionally and spiritually. I was also navigating the raw terrain of breastfeeding, healing and stepping into the vast unknown of motherhood. And yet, despite the exhaustion and pain, I was euphoric. My son had arrived and I was floating in the magic of it all.
But that magic was fragile.
It was this time, this sacred fleeting window, that became the impetus for my interest in boundaries. Though I didn’t have the language for it then, I felt it in my gut. I planned to protect this new family space; to honour the postpartum cocoon I always suggested as a doula and prenatal massage therapist. I knew the importance of the “postpartum babymoon.” I knew how vital it was to slow down, to nest, to bond and to heal. I spent years talking to women about the importance of claiming that space. Now it was my turn. I wrote a gentle note for the outside door:
“I’m so glad you came over, but we would love a few weeks to have family time and to heal.”
It was a whisper of self-advocacy, a quiet plea for reverence. But my mother tore it down.
It was a foreign concept to her and hit a chord with her people-pleasing ways of putting others before herself. She told me I couldn’t do that. That it was rude. And in that moment, something inside of me collapsed. My heart sank. I felt erased. Like my needs, my healing, my desire to bond with my baby were inconvenient; like asking for space was selfish. I had just brought life into the world, and yet I was being told to shrink.
Becoming a new mother, for me, felt incredible. What I was not prepared for was having all the answers for everyone; the expectations of family that I never even thought would come up. At times, I felt like I was in the spotlight and I had to do things the way they were always done.
All the questions about feeding, sleeping and vaccinations can feel overwhelming. You don’t need all the answers. You need breath, grace and room to become…. The questions that feel overwhelming now are invitations to slow down, to listen inward, honour the messy magic of birthing yourself into motherhood.
You are not failing, you are unfolding.
Your gateway to freedom is boundaries.
Motherhood is not a time to shrink. It is a time to expand and become the new person parenthood brings. Each family is unique with different needs. This is where boundaries come into play. Implementing the following gave me the freedom I was looking for.
• “No” is a full sentence and I don’t need to explain my position.
• Boundaries are a puzzle piece to how I live in the world.
• I now know where I stop and someone else begins.
• A boundary is between me and me, even if someone else is involved.
• My boundaries are fluid and may change over time.
• No one can cross my boundaries but me.
This information typically resonates with people pleasers, peacekeepers or empaths. It is indicative of living an “other referenced” life; waiting to see how others feel, over how you feel. When we do this, we abandon ourselves.
You deserve to take space and to have your needs met. You are worthy of having the life you want.
