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Learning to say no without feeling like a terrible person changed my life—and it might change yours too.
I used to pride myself on being the person everyone could count on.
Need someone to cover your shift? I’m there. Want to vent about your problems at midnight? My phone’s always on. Need help moving, planning an event, listening to the same complaint for the hundredth time? I’m your girl.
I said yes to everything. I showed up for everyone. I bent over backward to make sure no one was ever disappointed in me. And I genuinely believed this made me a good person—kind, selfless, loving.
What I didn’t realize was that I wasn’t being selfless. I was being self-abandoning. And there’s a massive difference.
After 13 years of working with people in recovery—watching them rebuild their lives by learning to honor their own needs instead of everyone else’s—I’ve come to understand something crucial: boundaries aren’t selfish. They’re essential. And for those of us who’ve spent our lives people-pleasing, learning to set them feels like learning a completely foreign language.
But here’s what I know now: you can’t pour from an empty cup. You can’t love others well if you’re not loving yourself. And saying yes to everyone else while saying no to yourself isn’t kindness—it’s self-betrayal.
Why We Become People-Pleasers
Let’s start with some compassion for how we got here, because people-pleasing doesn’t develop in a vacuum. It’s a survival strategy we learned somewhere along the way.
Maybe we grew up in environments where love felt conditional. Where we had to earn approval through good behavior, high achievement, or taking care of others’ emotional needs. Where expressing our own needs was met with rejection, guilt-tripping, or withdrawal of affection.
Maybe we learned that keeping the peace was safer than causing conflict. That our worth was determined by how useful we were to others. That saying no made us bad, selfish, or ungrateful. That other people’s feelings were more important than our own.
Maybe we discovered that we could avoid rejection by becoming indispensable. That if we made ourselves small enough, accommodating enough, selfless enough, people would need us. And being needed felt safer than risking being wanted for who we actually are.
For me, people-pleasing was a way to control the uncontrollable. If I could just be helpful enough, agreeable enough, supportive enough, then people would stay. They wouldn’t leave. They wouldn’t get angry. They wouldn’t reject me.
Except that’s not how it worked. The more I gave, the more was expected. The more I said yes, the harder it became to say no. The more I prioritized everyone else, the more I disappeared.
And eventually, I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the person staring back at me. Because I’d spent so long being what everyone else needed that I’d completely lost touch with who I actually was.
The Cost of Having No Boundaries
Here’s what nobody tells you about people-pleasing: it doesn’t actually make people like you more. It makes them respect you less. Including yourself.
When we have no boundaries, people learn they can take without giving back. They learn that our time and energy are freely available regardless of how they treat us. They learn that we won’t speak up when we’re hurt or disappointed, so there’s no accountability for their behavior.
Not because they’re malicious—though sometimes they are—but because we’re teaching them how to treat us. And we’re teaching them that we don’t value ourselves enough to require reciprocity.
The cost of having no boundaries is steep. It looks like chronic exhaustion because we’re constantly giving from an empty tank. It looks like resentment toward the people we claim to love because we’re saying yes when we mean no, then blaming them for taking what we offered. It looks like anxiety and burnout because we’re managing everyone’s emotions except our own.
It looks like relationships that drain us rather than nourish us. Work environments that exploit our willingness to overextend. Friendships that feel one-sided because we never ask for support, only provide it. Romantic relationships where we lose ourselves trying to be whatever our partner needs.
It looks like living a life that doesn’t actually feel like ours because we’re too busy living according to everyone else’s expectations and needs.
I spent years exhausted, resentful, and completely disconnected from myself. I kept wondering why I felt so empty when I was doing everything “right,” being kind, being helpful, being there for everyone who needed me.
The answer was simple but hard to accept: I was being there for everyone except myself.
The Guilt That Comes With Boundaries
Let me be honest: when I first started setting boundaries, I felt like an absolute monster.
The first time I said no to plans I didn’t want to attend, I spent hours spiraling. What if they’re mad at me? What if they think I’m selfish? What if they don’t invite me next time? What if this ruins the friendship?
The first time I told someone I couldn’t take on an extra project at work, I convinced myself I’d just torpedoed my career. The first time I asked a friend to stop venting to me without asking if I had capacity, I worried I was being a bad friend.
The guilt was crushing. It felt like I was doing something fundamentally wrong. Like I was betraying my core values of kindness and generosity. Like I was becoming the kind of selfish person I’d spent my whole life trying not to be.
But here’s what I’ve learned: that guilt isn’t telling you that you’re doing something wrong. It’s telling you that you’re doing something different. And for people-pleasers, different feels dangerous.
We’ve built our entire identity around being available, accommodating, and selfless. When we start setting boundaries, it challenges that identity. Our nervous system interprets this as a threat—if we’re not the person everyone can count on, who are we? If we stop earning love through service, will we be lovable at all?
The guilt is actually a sign that we’re breaking an old pattern. It’s evidence that we’re choosing ourselves for maybe the first time in our lives. And yes, it’s uncomfortable as hell. But discomfort doesn’t mean we’re doing something wrong. Sometimes it means we’re doing something brave.
What Boundaries Actually Are
Let’s clear up a major misconception: boundaries aren’t walls. They’re not about shutting people out or refusing to help anyone ever. They’re not about being cold, distant, or selfish.
Boundaries are simply clear communication about what works for us and what doesn’t. What we’re available for and what we’re not. What feels good and what feels draining. They’re the parameters that protect our energy, our time, our emotional well-being, and our sense of self.
Think of boundaries like the fence around a garden. The fence doesn’t exist to keep everything out—it exists to protect what’s growing inside. To create a container where beautiful things can flourish. To make it clear where your garden ends and someone else’s begins.
Good boundaries are flexible, not rigid. They account for different relationships and different contexts. The boundaries we have with coworkers might look different from boundaries with close friends. Boundaries can shift and evolve as we grow and as relationships deepen.
But here’s what good boundaries always do: they honor both people in the relationship. They create clarity instead of confusion. They prevent resentment by addressing issues before they become problems. They allow authentic connection because both people can show up honestly rather than performing or pretending.
Boundaries aren’t about controlling other people’s behavior—we can’t do that anyway. They’re about deciding how we’ll respond to others’ behavior. What we’ll accept and what we won’t. What we’re willing to give and what we need in return.
They’re not punishment. They’re not manipulation. They’re not about making someone else change. They’re about taking responsibility for our own well-being instead of expecting others to magically know what we need.
How to Start Setting Boundaries
If you’re reading this and thinking, Okay, but how do I actually do this?—I get it. Setting boundaries when you have none feels impossible. Here’s how I started, one uncomfortable conversation at a time.
First, get clear on what you actually need. This is harder than it sounds when you’re not used to checking in with yourself. Start paying attention to what drains you versus what energizes you. What situations leave you feeling resentful? When do you say yes but mean no? Where are you overextending?
Keep a boundary journal if it helps. Notice patterns. For me, I realized I resented friends who only called when they needed something but were never available when I needed support. I resented taking on extra work projects that weren’t my responsibility. I resented giving advice that was never taken, just to be asked for the same advice again next week.
Second, start small. You don’t have to revolutionize your entire life overnight. Practice saying no to low-stakes things first. “I can’t make that event, but thanks for inviting me.” “I’m not available to help with that project right now.” “I need to get off the phone—can we continue this conversation another time?”
Notice what happens. Usually, nothing dramatic. People might be disappointed, but they move on. The world doesn’t end. You don’t lose everyone you care about. And slowly, you start to internalize that your needs matter too.
Third, expect pushback from some people. Not everyone will be thrilled about your new boundaries, especially people who benefited from you having none. Some will guilt-trip you. Some will call you selfish. Some will test your boundaries to see if you’ll cave.
This is actually useful information. It shows you who was in relationship with the real you versus the accommodating version you were performing. It reveals which relationships were reciprocal and which were one-sided. It’s painful, but it’s clarifying.
Fourth, practice tolerating the discomfort. The guilt will come. The fear will show up. You’ll want to take back your boundary, apologize, return to people-pleasing because it feels safer.
Sit with it anyway. Remind yourself that discomfort is temporary but resentment is corrosive. That short-term awkwardness is better than long-term self-betrayal. That you’re teaching people how to treat you, and you deserve to be treated with respect.
Fifth, surround yourself with people who respect boundaries. Pay attention to who responds well when you set a boundary. Who says “Of course, I understand” without making you feel guilty. Who checks in about your capacity before asking for favors. Who reciprocates the care you give them.
These are your people. The ones who love you for who you are, not what you do for them. The ones who want you to have boundaries because they want you to be healthy and whole.
What Changed When I Set Boundaries
I wish I could tell you that setting boundaries immediately made my life easier. It didn’t. At first, it made things harder.
Some friendships ended because they were built on me being endlessly available. Some people got angry because I was no longer managing their emotions for them. Some relationships had to be renegotiated because the old dynamic wasn’t sustainable.
It was painful. I grieved the loss of relationships I’d invested in, even as I recognized they weren’t actually serving me. I grieved the version of myself who thought being needed was the same as being loved. I grieved the illusion of control that people-pleasing had given me.
But on the other side of that grief was something I’d never experienced before: freedom.
Freedom from the exhaustion of constantly performing. Freedom from the resentment of always giving without receiving. Freedom from the anxiety of trying to manage everyone’s reactions. Freedom to live according to my own values instead of everyone else’s expectations.
I started to have energy again because I wasn’t giving it all away. I started to enjoy my relationships because they were based on mutual care rather than one-sided caretaking. I started to feel less anxious because I was being honest about my limits instead of constantly overextending.
Most surprisingly, the relationships that survived my boundaries became deeper and more authentic. Because people were finally relating to the real me, not the version I thought they needed me to be. Because there was space for reciprocity when I stopped doing everything myself. Because honesty created intimacy that performing never could.
I also discovered something that challenged everything I’d believed: people actually respected me more when I had boundaries. They trusted me more because I was being authentic. They valued my time more because it wasn’t freely available. They showed up better because I’d shown them what I needed instead of expecting them to guess.
The people who truly cared about me didn’t love me less when I set boundaries—they loved me better. Because I’d given them clear information about how to do that.
Boundaries Are an Act of Love
Here’s the perspective shift that changed everything for me: boundaries aren’t selfish. They’re the foundation of healthy relationships.
When I have clear boundaries, I can show up more fully for the people I care about because I’m not resentful or depleted. I can give from a place of genuine generosity rather than obligation. I can love others without losing myself in the process.
When I communicate my needs clearly, I give others the opportunity to actually meet them instead of expecting them to read my mind. I create space for honest dialogue instead of silent score-keeping. I model that it’s safe to have needs and ask for them to be met.
When I respect my own boundaries, I teach others how to respect them too. I demonstrate that my well-being matters. I show that relationships work best when both people take responsibility for their own needs instead of sacrificing themselves for each other.
Boundaries are an act of love—for ourselves and for others. They create the conditions for sustainable connection. They prevent the burnout and resentment that destroy relationships. They allow us to show up as our authentic selves instead of performing a version we think others need.
The most loving thing we can do is be honest about our capacity, clear about our needs, and willing to let go of relationships that require us to betray ourselves.
An Invitation to Honor Yourself
So here’s my invitation to you: What would it feel like to stop abandoning yourself in order to please others?
What if you started paying attention to your own needs with the same care you give to everyone else’s? What if you practiced saying no without over-explaining or apologizing? What if you let people be disappointed without making it your responsibility to fix their feelings?
What if you trusted that the right people will respect your boundaries, and the ones who don’t are showing you who they are? That relationships built on you having no limits aren’t relationships worth keeping?
What if you believed that your time, energy, and well-being are just as valuable as anyone else’s? That taking care of yourself isn’t selfish—it’s necessary? That you can be kind and generous while still having boundaries?
The guilt will come. The fear will show up. You’ll be tempted to return to old patterns because they feel safer, more familiar, more like who you think you’re supposed to be.
But I promise you this: on the other side of that discomfort is a version of yourself you’ve been waiting to meet. The one who knows her worth. Who honors her needs. Who shows up authentically in relationships instead of performing. Who can love others without losing herself.
That version of you is already there, waiting. She’s just been buried under years of people-pleasing and self-abandonment.
Setting boundaries is how you excavate her. How you remember who you are beneath all the performing. How you create space for the life and relationships you actually want instead of the ones you think you should want.
It won’t be easy. But neither is living a life that doesn’t feel like yours. Neither is carrying the weight of everyone’s needs while ignoring your own. Neither is being everything to everyone while being nothing to yourself.
You deserve relationships where you can show up honestly. Where your needs matter as much as anyone else’s. Where love doesn’t require self-abandonment.
You deserve to take up space, to have limits, to say no without guilt. You deserve to be seen and loved for who you actually are, not what you do for others.
And that becomes possible the moment you start honoring yourself the way you’ve been honoring everyone else.
One boundary at a time. One uncomfortable conversation at a time. One moment of choosing yourself at a time.
You’re not being selfish. You’re being honest. And that honesty might be the most generous thing you’ve ever offered—to yourself and to the people who truly love you.
Are you a recovering people-pleaser? What boundaries have been hardest for you to set? How did it feel the first time you chose yourself? Share your experience in the comments below.
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