For much of my life, I found myself overextended, giving in to requests and demands that left me drained and resentful. My energy was siphoned away by others, leaving me little time or space to tend to my own needs. In the pursuit of approval, or perhaps the avoidance of confrontation, I became a servant to the expectations of those around me. Yet, I realized that this servitude was not born out of obligation, but from my own inability to say “no” — a simple word, yet one that carries profound weight.

Learning to say “no” is, at its core, an act of self-preservation. It is not a rejection of others, but a reclamation of my time and energy. It is a statement of my boundaries, a way of asserting that my needs, desires, and well-being are just as valid as those of the people who ask for my help. The first step was recognizing that I am not responsible for meeting every expectation placed upon me. In fact, every time I said “yes” out of guilt or fear, I was betraying my own priorities, eroding my own autonomy.

The key to refusing others lies not in bluntness, but in clarity and conviction. To decline with grace, I needed to acknowledge that I am entitled to protect my time. By doing so, I discovered that I can offer more to the world when I am not constantly exhausted or overwhelmed. In reclaiming my ability to say “no,” I opened up a reservoir of energy that could be redirected toward the things and people that matter most to me. It was not selfishness, but rather a conscious decision to steward my own resources wisely.

I also learned that guilt has no rightful place in this equation. The discomfort that arises from setting boundaries is temporary, and it pales in comparison to the long-term depletion caused by over-commitment. Others may not always understand, but their approval is not what defines my worth. There is immense power in standing firm, in recognizing that I cannot be everything to everyone. Saying “no” is an act of integrity; to myself, and in turn, to those who truly depend on me.

By understanding the limits of my own capacity and cultivating the courage to enforce those limits, I now live with greater intention. Every “no” is a door that I close so that I may focus on the doors that truly lead to the life I want to create.

–

If you could hear the music once more,
Would you take my hand to the dance floor?
Would we recall each step we knew,
Or falter on the path we never grew?

Would I grasp at the chance,
To share with you this last dance?

I shouldn’t.
I couldn’t.
I won’t.

For this last dance belongs to a heart worthy of my embrace.

— Sincerely, Boris

Throughout my journey as a child and as an adult, I have come to realize that trust is not a simplistic or singular decision, but a process. It’s not merely about extending trust to others, but about confronting my inner doubts; both about people and about the plan for my life. I’ve learned that my skepticism and reluctance to trust stem from wounds of the past, and from my fear of what might happen if I let go of control. Trust, I now see, isn’t blind; it’s informed by wisdom, discernment, and boundaries.

There were moments when I questioned not just others, but also the divine, wondering why painful experiences were allowed to happen, and why I was left feeling unprotected as a child and later in life as I defended into young adulthood. The uncertainty bred doubt in my own ability to discern who or what was safe. Yet, what I have gained is an understanding that trust begins not with others, but with a foundational trust in a higher purpose, even when the path forward seems obscure.

I learned that trust is not something to be given indiscriminately or withheld entirely. It is an invitation to vulnerability, tempered by the understanding that discernment is a gift, honed through experience. It has become clear to me that trust is less about guarantees of safety or certainty and more about growth through relational and spiritual stretching. There is wisdom in establishing boundaries, not as a form of self-preservation, but as an act of respect for both myself and those around me. Boundaries do not signify the absence of trust, but rather the preservation of healthy, intentional trust.

The deepest lesson, however, is the recognition that trust requires a recalibration of my heart. It is not my role to control or to predict the actions of others or the unfolding of life’s events, but to trust that each step I take, though uncertain, moves me closer to healing. I now understand that trust is a slow dance between wisdom and vulnerability, one that I must navigate with an open yet discerning heart. The fear that held me captive no longer defines my capacity to trust. Instead, trust becomes a daily practice of releasing control, setting healthy limits, and believing that I am safe within divine protection, even when circumstances remain unclear.

—

In childhood’s darkest corners,
Fear lived behind the front door,
A silence I could not question,
But learned not to trust.

Friends, once anchors,
Became driftwood in shallow waters,
Loyalty lost like whispers,
And I abandoned floating alone.

In a failed marriage, trust was a mirror
Shattered by pretense,
Each shard reflecting a version of myself
That I no longer recognized.

Relationships, at times, felt like betrayal,
A wound wrapped in promises,
Yet in moments of intimacy,
I found trust’s delicate bloom.

Now, trust is a flickering light,
Sometimes dim, sometimes strong,
A compass not for others,
But for the faith I rebuild within myself.

— Sincerely, Boris

this is me
screaming into
the void
a whisper
i am deserving and worthy of love

this is me
constructing pieces
of boundaries
i can't put up yet

this is me
speaking words
that are not lies

this is me
preparing for the worst

this is self-preservation

The thorny rose that no one liked;
It lacked a petal and had a thousand spikes.
The thorns that grew from its roots to leaves
Kept the people from touching it.
But, this thorny rose once had no thorns at all;
It just lacked a single petal, tho,
This was enough for it be alone
And cursed by all, oh, so much woe.
So, she cried a million tears
Which soon grew as thorns and nasty leaves.
Now no one gives it a second glance,
But it doesn't really need anyone's touch.

I'm comfortable
In the dimness of
My room
I'm warm
Under layers smooth
I'm relaxed
In the silence
Of solitude.

My room small and yet
Large enough
Slightly cramped and yet
Spacious enough
Almost a world away
Nothing urgent
And yet

It all comes crashing down as
I open the door
Let it all in
I don't want to
I know I'll have to
I'll want to
And yet
I don't.

since December, the world has turned--
turned into a skeleton place
first far away,
now commonplace

society became a bare-skinned animal
whose bones rattle in the breeze,
the infectious air diffusing
entwining inside us with ease

this animal's labored breathing--
poison emanates from every exhale--
is creeping, swirling, choking, whirling
without a visible trail

this animal roams about freely
without a stay-at-home order,
wraps its tendrils inside each painful breath,
knows not of race, religion, or border

so tell me why we've not tried to tame it,
most wonderful governor dear, oh yes!
your disregard for us, proclaim it!
instead you'd rather have fear, and death!

any call to action now
will have us all still writhing
the lame beast will conquer us,
thanks, to the lack of timing

the bare ***** beast hunts night and day
its being can't be cast away;
arm yourself against its wrath
society must pave its own path

I held your hand as you disentangled from her
you did not move closer to me

I assuaged your worst fears
you fueled mine

I was fully present and attentive
you took calls that came in . . . and didn’t call back

I asked questions
you answered different ones

I made you a playlist
you never acknowledged

I made plans and reservations
you did not show

I gave you the benefit of every doubt
you did not reassure me

I made myself vulnerable
you remained ensconced

I created space in my life
you did not explore

I dared to dream about us
you dreamed about . . . I don’t know

I gave you my body
you reached for your phone

I gave you my heart
you did not reciprocate

I get it now
you are just not that into me

Only wish I knew sooner.
Goodbye.