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Trust is a fragile thing, and I learned this through the bruises of past relationships. Boundaries were a concept I didn’t recognize, let alone embrace. Throughout my childhood and young adult life, I hadn’t seen trust protected by boundaries; instead, it felt conditional, something that could vanish the moment I made a mistake.

Growing up in a home where my voice was often drowned out, where the lines between safety and fear blurred, I never learned that I had the right to set limits or protect my own space. As a child, I lived in an environment where mistakes felt unforgivable, with my needs and wants taking a back seat to keeping peace or avoiding conflict. That pattern followed me, undetected, into adulthood.

In my past marriage, trust was twisted into something transactional; I gave and gave, bending to make things work, hoping that in sacrificing my needs, I’d somehow earn security. But trust erodes quickly when there’s no boundary to protect it, and by the time we reached the end, it was shattered, scattered in pieces I could barely recognize. Throughout the entire 14-year relationship with my ex-wife, I unknowingly carried the absence of boundaries with me. I tried to be everything I thought a husband and father should be, pouring every ounce of myself into a relationship that quietly depleted me, while she dictated our lives to the smallest detail, and often used them against me. My needs vanished under layers of compromise and concession. Over time, I realized I wasn’t in love with her, but instead tethered by an obligation to uphold the image of a “good husband.”

Boundaries felt selfish; they seemed like walls I wasn’t allowed to build, even as my own well being deteriorated. I had buried my true self beneath the weight of expectations and silent suffering. It took years to realize how damaging that was and how necessary it is to set limits that honor one’s own dignity. After my divorce, I thought love alone would be enough to hold onto trust, but I soon saw how easily trust can be chipped away without boundaries to frame it. It taught me that when boundaries aren’t respected, trust withers, leaving behind only doubt and regret.

I realize now, boundaries are the silent guardians of trust. They keep it intact, protected from the misunderstandings that come when needs go unspoken. When I set boundaries, I’m not only safeguarding my well-being but also inviting others to respect my trust by respecting my limits. Learning to set boundaries has been, in many ways, a journey in rebuilding trust and that boundaries are an act of self-respect. They aren’t barriers to keep people out, but lines that protect the best of who we are. I came to see that in order to show up as a healthy, present father, as a friend, as a partner, and as the person I strive to be, I need to safeguard my energy and my emotional space. Learning to set limits; to tell others where I end and they begin; has been a transformative act of reclaiming myself. I understand now that boundaries are not selfish; they are a declaration of self-worth. I had to understand that without boundaries, trust has no foundation; it’s a vulnerable thing that requires support to stand on my own and they’re about creating a safe space where trust can grow slowly, steadily, and with integrity.

I have come to learn that when I honor my boundaries, I’m rebuilding the foundation of trust in myself. This trust is precious; it’s the belief that I won’t betray my own needs for someone else’s comfort. They’re a promise to myself that I will no longer give away pieces of my peace. And when others respect my boundaries, they earn something rare and valuable; a trust that, this time, feels solid enough to last.

Through my experience, I’ve come to carry three powerful truths about boundaries. First, they are non-negotiable. For too long, I made my needs flexible, prioritizing others over myself. Now, boundaries allow me to define who I am, uncompromisingly. Second, they empower us to say no without guilt or apology. Each ‘no’ is a way of saying ‘yes’ to the life and relationships I deserve. And finally, boundaries are how we honor ourselves and teach others to do the same. They are my compass, helping me navigate life with dignity, pride, and authenticity.

This journey hasn’t been easy. Breaking the patterns of a lifetime can feel like tearing down and rebuilding a house from its foundations. But I’ve learned that setting boundaries isn’t about anger or resentment; it’s about clarity, growth, and love; for myself, for my daughter, and for the relationships I wish to nurture moving forward.



Once there was a quiet garden,
filled with colors bright and wild.
It grew best when lines were honored;
a space for each root, each petal, each stem.

For a time, no borders stood,
and flowers tangled, starved for sun,
their colors dulled, their strength pulled thin,
as vines of one drained life from within.

So a gardener placed small stones around,
not walls, but paths for each to grow;
a space to bloom, freely and alone,
to lift their heads, to stretch and know.

In tending gently to each line,
the garden thrived, each flower freed,
and side by side, they grew in kind,
a beauty held by roots, not need.

Boundaries gave them life that way,
together, yet strong, every day.

— Sincerely, Boris
mikey preston Nov 15
it shines like the city
and it breaks like the bridge
and we should be drunk
but this is a school trip
they’d find exhaust in my lungs
if they did my autopsy
i’m soaking up in puddles
wanna breathe gasoline

the heat is too sweaty
and the people don’t smile
and it’s not LA
But let’s stay for a while
and you hate LA
it’s all concrete and palm trees
so let’s go get burgers
let’s go get ice cream

glitter like winners
and it’s sticky out here
and somewhere it’s winter
but somewheres never here
this station’ all yellow
am i in a movie?
this is living, worth filming
i’m finally breathing

scream off the balcony
up 46 floors
suburbs in the sky
wanna break down the door
live like real people
leave our shoes on the floor
watching the sunrise
and still wanting more
it shines like the city / up 46 floors / im finally breathing / and still wanting more
riri Nov 13
i always thought twenty would be an age of maturity
the age of "put-togetherness"
the age of emotional regulation

as i near the age of twenty now,
all i can do is sit back and laugh
how far i still have to go

i still feel like the same little girl who picked at every physical imperfection in front of a mirror
i still get the same sour feeling in my chest when someone criticizes me, i never got better at not caring
i still tap my foot repeatedly as anxiety pulses through my veins in a room full of people

nearing the age of twenty,
i realize i am still consumed by the anxiety i always wished would magically fade with age
mental illness isn't a phase, yet it's something i have to deal with for the rest of my life
still trying
Emma Kate Oct 16
Claim my burden but never

offer your shoulder

to confide, 

to cry,

But you have no tears to spare.

Trying to eat the slice of pie

I spent hours baking,

you spent seconds eating.

Those peaches were freshly picked!

Bathed in bicarb! 

I scrubbed the dirt

until it was nothing but

another piece of myself

for you to ******.

I do not swallow sweetness, 

I choke on copper,

throat bursting to the brim

with pennies-

the same pennies you offer

in penance 

for the burden of lead that

nooses my neck. 

You wear it by choice;

by Gold, 

by Glory,

believing our blood is the same drop split in two.

Though it is proven to be yours for the taking,

you will be tasked with breaking each 

frozen finger, 

forced to pry your prize from

my bruised palms.
Thoughts on the complicated entanglement of familial ties, and just how sticky the web that holds us hostage can feel.
Eva Oct 14
From a window up high
I can hear the rain
Drumming down
Grey
Sloshing through streets and
Ruining leather shoes  

Children scream in delight
And scatter
Running with their school bags or jackets
Up over their heads
Some not even bothering
No umbrellas
Revelling in their drenched clothes
Water dripping down their noses

And I think about how
It happens one day -
You start to step over puddles
Instead of jumping in them
Zywa Oct 8
Adulthood is the

hard skin against feelings of --


gentle compassion.
End of the novella "Een mooie jonge vrouw" (2014, "A beautiful young wife", 2016, Tommy Wieringa) - Anesthesia dolorosa (painful numbness, deafferentation pain)

Collection "Wean Di"
Justination Oct 5
In the cradle of dawn where the shadows play
A child awakes to the world's bright array
With laugh like ripples on a sun-kissed stream
Imagination unfolds like a vibrant dream

Tiny hands grasp at the stars in the sky
Each moment an adventure as days' flurry by
With nature as canvas, they paint with delight
In a kingdom of wonder, all senses take flight

Then the youth comes a calling, a tornado in bloom
With eyes full of fire and a heart like a plume
Chasing the sunsets on roads made of hope
Struggling with shadows, learning to cope

It's the thrill of first love, the ache of goodbyes
The forging of dreams beneath changing skies
With leagues to explore and the world on their chest
In the chaos of passions, they long for the rest

And then to adulthood where the seasons intertwine
With roots that run deep and ambitions that shine
Responsibilities weigh like a cloak on the soul
As we balance our dreams with the weight of our goal

The laughter of children, the warmth of a home
In the threads of life, we are never alone
Through trials and triumphs, in joy and in strife
We knit a rich curtain, this beautiful life

Each phase flows like water, a river divine
Carving paths through the mountains, leaving old-age design
From the innocence of youth to wisdom's embrace
Life's ever-changing dance is a timeless grace

So here's to the journey with each turn of age
From child to adulthood, we all share the stage
In the heart of existence, phase by phase
We find the pure magic in life's winding maze
Lark Oct 2
in the afternoon we chew our pills,
sweating the backs of knees, armpits,
blessed the skittering of grass on down-brushed
shins.
pulsing behind our eyes, weeping the veins,
shuddering the voltaic nerves. god,
the excedrin.
Emma Kate Sep 25
Did you know? Did I know?
Did I bury you before death?
Am I culpable of a sinful sentence?
Snippets from a piece about illness and death.
I once laid in my bed content
With mama’s prayers tucked in.
Listening to trains far off across
River trestles on rails stretched
To places I could only dream of.

Beginner’s luck the magic strong.
Reality and dreams synonymous.
Early the seeds of wanderlust
Planted.

Talents forged of
Cardboard boxes and
Old trunks in the attic
And of games with friends
In woods and streets.

Old Mr. Robling’s eyes looked
Beyond . . .
Child’s play would end
Someday.

That day eventually came in
Linear time
But much longer to this
Wandering mind
That thought beyond the grade
School desk when my adolescent
Peer’s noses were buried deep.

Wander and travel lust left this boy
Rootless and restless when time
Came to stop chasing mirages
Of greener pastures.

He then looked up and saw
His little one’s grown up
With a somewhat similar
Bittersweet taste of chasing
Elusive islands of emerald green
Seen as lush vivid images
On their built-in larger-than-life
Mental GPS screens
Programmed to ****** the
Wanderer into the delusion that
They can take extended or even
Permanent excursions far from

The
Great
Gray
Banal
Sea.

Not very long ago this ageless
Boy was forced into settling for
Stark reality.
But he is slowly growing a bit
More comfortable in his own skin.

The grass is still a bit green
But parts are a bit dry
Patchy and crabgrass ridden.

At least it fashionably matches
His soul . . .
Poetic justice for trading
Most of your life for
The elusive
Obvious.

I still cling tight to my childhood  
In my own non-linear time of
One hundred years ago

But far too young in linear time
To be residing in
A tired body
Which many define age as
Value was once
Measured by quality not
Quantity

And as those running the track
And roaming free over
Thousands of acres
Of wide-open
Plains as opposed to those
Put out to pasture or waiting
In line

At
The
Glue
Factory
©2017 Daniel Irwin Tucker

Another dance through my life memoir.
The long & winding road in linear &
non-linear time.
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