Some people crumble when their boundaries are crossed. Yet I don’t; I sharpen.
What some people have labeled stubbornness in me is actually a survival strategy rooted in how I was raised. In this reflection, I explore why strong boundaries can feel threatening to those who’ve learned to self-abandon, how healthy childhood attachment fuels emotional resilience, and why my ability to stand firm is both a great gift and, at times, a tough social challenge.
August 13th 2025
Wednesday, 1:22pm
Realizations Journal
I’ve referred to a “certain sort of discipline” I seem to possess that other people lack. I’ve also mentioned many times that I have an “emotional resilience” – particularly with regards to kink – that other people lack. This sense of perseverance – and even selfhood, and confidence in that selfhood – seems to be almost unfathomably weak in so many people. But now I have insight into why.
It came up because Lytenian and I were discussing how we felt differently about the word “violation.” He associated it with fear, whereas I associated it more with anger – and even a sense of being insulted. We soon realized that the key difference was that feeling violated caused us to have very different internal responses: he self-abandoned, while I abandoned all else in favor of myself.
We explored the roots of these behaviors and we found the key difference resided within our relationships with our mothers. In my case, I didn’t have to worry if I didn’t agree with a teacher or other authority figure, because I could rely on my mother to back up my own good judgment about what was best for me. While there were a few exceptions to that, they were rare. In contrast, Lytenian felt unsafe any time an authority figure disagreed with him because he didn’t trust his mother to be on his side. He learned that he had to self-abandon at times of feeling violated because seeking to defend himself would only result in worse consequences.
This key difference between our upbringing was what gave rise to his co-dependent leanings and my “narcissistic” leanings. I’m using narcissism here to refer to adaptive self-prioritization – not pathological narcissism as a personality disorder.
My mother backing me up – and rightly so, as I was a smart kid – gave me the validation and confidence needed to be comfortable standing up for myself even without backup by the time I was a teen. My father also backed me up the majority of the time. Relative to most kids, this was an exceptional experience of solidarity in my home life.
In healthy – idyllic – situations, we should be able to consider our own needs and the needs of another person simultaneously, and do our best to meet both. In unhealthy situations – particularly when being violated in any way – it is critical that we have the capacity for flipping into a “narcissistic” strategy. We must shut off the regulatory rule book that tells us what’s socially acceptable and instead now act purely in our own best interest. This is how I can clearly navigate out of situations which feel intrusive or abusive.
In other words, the more other people violate my boundaries – especially people I hardly know – the more I feel insulted, angry, and resilient. Anger is an emotion that arises when we are rising to the plate to defend ourselves. We become angry to break free of a trap we can feel closing in around us. Anger is a contrasting response to fear. When Lytenian is responding with fear, that’s putting him in a fight or flight (or freeze or fawn) response.
My anger drives me to decisive action. It could be as simple as responding to a hateful message by saying, “I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m done with this conversation,” and then blocking the person. It might mean cutting off a person who has not been listening every time I said I needed to leave, to tell them one final time, “I’m going now,” and hanging up the phone. These small acts are self-love – and they can absolutely be misinterpreted as the signs of having a dark-triad personality disorder.
I think many people have this weak sense of their own boundaries and sense of self; likely this is due to lacking a mother – or reliable caregiver – who would stick up for them. They couldn’t rely on someone to take their side, and thus, standing up for what they wanted or believed was unsafe. If this was the case, it didn’t leave much room for exploring one’s own truth, much less getting in the practice of honoring it. Thus, my own firmer ability to snap into my own power, my own center, can cause my personality to seem “too intense” for others.
I’ve had to learn to soften myself and play down my convictions to make others comfortable being around me. This hasn’t been a bad thing – it’s a strategic kindness which gives others breathing room. It’s not really the same thing as a tiresome mask which is barely held in place. Instead, it’s an adaptation born from compassion for other people’s struggles with their boundaries. Yet, all the same, it would be a lot easier if everyone could have a clearer sense of self which they clearly communicated so that we could all move more rapidly toward finding genuine alignment, rather than going through a long phase where all the people involved with weak boundaries spend time negotiating their boundaries – or worse, violating themselves and then feeling resentful toward the other person for asking.
Unfortunately, as much as I would simply like to be a positive influence by being able to state my own boundaries clearly, it is often not taken that way. Someone capable of unapologetically prioritizing their own needs is often seen as too selfish. And giving a clear “no” can stir up someone’s past experiences of feeling rejected or abandoned. I’ve even suspected that my ability to be clear about myself can make others feel inadequate. At the very least, my willingness to disagree creates ruptures in the sense of connection – and that goes both ways, because their obvious sense of disconnection then creates my own sense of rupture.
All of this adds up to a paradox in my reality: I can be strong in the face of violation, yet still hesitate to be “fully myself” in many everyday contexts. Being clear about my truth creates internal safety, but expressing it can create a sense of danger for others unless I embody a heck-of-a-lot of grace in the way I express myself. I’m getting better at that, but improvement is still quite warranted.
In a way, none of this is news. Studies have verified that secure attachment figures in childhood lead to better self-advocacy and autonomy in adulthood – but that sounds so damn abstract. Whereas here I have this concrete example from my real life: I shrink into myself and withdraw from all external demands placed upon me in response to feeling violated. In contrast, Lytenian self-abandons when he feels violated. Because of our differing responses, he holds his boundaries closer and is less willing to engage in situations which might approach his boundaries. Whereas, I regularly explore situations that might push my boundaries. In fact, when it comes to safe people, I even enjoy my boundaries being pushed on. I feel that boundary-pushing can be stimulating, exciting, and downright fun in the right contexts.
This discipline – this emotional strength – is both a boon and a deep social challenge. I wouldn’t trade it, but I do wish I lived in a world where a strong personality was seen as an invitation to genuine connection, rather than a threat to it.
— Raederle Phoenix
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