Ah, the joys of the holidays. I do love the smell of pine cones, cinnamon sticks, sweet potatoes, and hot cocoa. What I don’t love is the family drama that often accompanies family holiday get-togethers, and I know I’m not alone in that. This is why having health boundaries is so essential. They’re not just for you; they’re for other people to learn and understand how to treat and respect you.
We’ve all been there. That one moment during a holiday party or dinner when someone says something familiar and, without warning, you feel yourself slip into an old version of you. Not because you want to, but because history knows exactly when to speak up. You’ve grown, you’ve changed, and still you wonder if protecting your peace will be mistaken for being difficult. That’s the real holiday tension. Not the logistics, but the quiet pressure to keep the peace, even if it costs you yours.
We’re taught early—sometimes outright, sometimes silently—that to be good is to be agreeable. To say yes. To help. To bend. And if you don’t? You’re cold. You’re difficult. You’re selfish. Guess what? The people who truly care about you will learn your boundaries. The ones who refuse? They weren’t in it for you—they were in it for what you could give them.
It’s important to note that boundaries are not mean. They are not rude. And they are absolutely not optional. They are the most essential form of self-respect—especially for women who have spent their lives accommodating, softening, and saying yes when every cell in their body was screaming no.
Growth Changes the Dynamic
Growth doesn’t just change you.
It changes the rules. And not everyone is ready for, nor do they necessarily like, change.
Family dynamics are built on long-standing roles. When you stop playing yours, it can feel unsettling to people who relied on the old version of you. The accommodating one. The one who smoothed things over. The one who didn’t push back.
So yes, your boundaries may feel disruptive. But disruption isn’t harmful. Sometimes it’s just honesty arriving late to the conversation.
Forgiveness Is Not Unlimited Access
Forgiveness is often misunderstood, especially when it comes to family. It doesn’t mean forgetting, nor does it mean tolerating. And it most certainly does not mean unlimited emotional access.
You can forgive someone and still decide they don’t get front-row seats in your inner world. You can release resentment without reopening wounds. Boundaries don’t cancel forgiveness. They keep it from becoming self-betrayal.
Boundaries Are Non-Negotiable
In my book, Stubborn As F❤️ck, I share thirteen certain truths to rise, reclaim, and reinvent your life. Truth #12 is ‘Boundaries: They’re Non-Negotiable’. I mean that too from a real-life standpoint. In the book, I share several stories about how important boundaries are and what happens when you don’t have them. Here’s one of those stories to illustrate what boundaries look like in action:
I was serving as the Interim CEO of a National Healthcare Foundation. I’d sat on the board for years—on the Executive Committee, no less. When the prior CEO transitioned out, one of the co-founders and board members called and asked me to step in. “Just for 90 days,” she said.
The timing was wild—I had sold my digital agency, Dekaf, ten days earlier. I’d planned to finally take a breath. Rest. Heal. Reset after 8 relentless years of scaling a company and surviving more procedures and surgeries than most people see in a lifetime.
But I said yes. Because I loved this organization. It was personal. They fight for patients, and I am the equivalent of a professional patient if there were such a thing. It felt like a calling.
That July, I underwent my 15th or 16th ERCP—an outpatient procedure that, for me, always ended up with an inpatient stay. But this time, I woke up in the ICU. We didn’t know it at the time, but my pancreas had been nicked during the procedure, and I was in a dangerous situation.
I was hospitalized for nearly two weeks, again. Discharged, again. Trying to recover, again. But even while still weak and in the hospital, I kept checking in—working from bed, coordinating with the board and my staff, trying to hold it all together. And the more I tried, the nastier one board member—the same one who’d asked me to step in—became.
Her tone turned curt. Her emails mean. She questioned every decision I made, no matter how minor. I was actively managing organ failure and full-body inflammation, and this woman—who co-founded an organization meant to support patients like me—was making my job feel like a war zone.
By August, I was in the hospital again for adhesiolysis—open abdominal surgery with a brutal recovery. I got an infection. Complications followed. She didn’t let up. If anything, her behavior escalated. My therapist suggested maybe it was transference—maybe she was scared I’d die like her loved one had from this disease. But I knew better. That was her problem. And I refused to let it become mine.
Originally, I’d agreed to serve through September. I extended it until November. I even helped hire the search firm to find the permanent CEO. The board chair and other co-founders asked me to stay on permanently.
And I was tempted. I loved the work. I was advocating for patients like me, driving research and policy, and funding. But love isn’t a reason to stay in harm’s way. I was throwing up during Zoom board meetings. Going off camera to vomit, coming back to lead the call while enduring the pain that followed. And all while navigating a toxic, hostile dynamic from someone who saw me as disposable.
So I drew a line (read: boundary).
I told the board chair, HR agency, and leadership team: December 23rd would be my last day. No extensions. No reconsideration.
And I didn’t just leave the role. I left the board. Walked away from the organization I’d spent years serving, because no mission—no matter how noble—is worth your health or your sanity.
Here’s the thing: it wasn’t even a hard decision. Not when you know your worth. Not when you’ve worked too hard to stay alive to let someone else’s dysfunction drag you back into survival mode.
That woman didn’t just cross a boundary. She reminded me why I need them.
Boundaries aren’t selfish—they’re sacred. In chapter twelve, I break down how I learned to say no and how it saved my sanity. Boundaries are not requests, they’re not explanations, nor are they discussion topics between courses.
If you feel the urge to over-explain or justify your limits, pause. That reflex is old programming. Clarity doesn’t need approval. It needs conviction.
Love Shouldn’t Require Self-Abandonment
We’re taught that love means endurance. That if something hurts, we should tolerate it longer, smile through it, and keep the tradition alive. But real love doesn’t require you to shrink, perform, or stay silent. If a relationship only works when you abandon yourself, it’s not asking for love. It’s asking for compliance.
Protecting your peace isn’t avoidance. It’s discernment, a leadership skill. It’s choosing which conversations you’ll engage in, when to leave early, or when to say no without a speech attached. You’re allowed to love your family and still draw a line. You’re allowed to forgive and still protect yourself. And if this resonates, Chapter 12 of Stubborn As F❤️ck goes deeper into why boundaries are non-negotiable and how to hold them without guilt.
