My Life With Boundaries: South Asian Woman Edition

Originally posted on Medium June 2023

In "Their Eyes Were Watching God," Zora Neale Hurston wrote,

"If you are silent about your pain, they'll kill you and say you enjoyed it."

This is my story of setting boundaries and coming home to myself. Admittedly the concept of boundary setting seems basic, but as a South Asian woman, setting boundaries with certain people, in many ways, can be a colossal feat. Martyrdom, longsuffering, and forbearance are so on brand for us, add Christianity to the mix, and you have the ideal conditions to become a human doormat and receptacle for other people's foolishness.

The past few years of the pandemic provided boundaries I didn't know I needed. It gave me a sense of ease at an unlikely time, but, of course, this wasn't a long-term solution. The world was returning to a new normal, and I was preparing for significant life changes that would alter people's expectations regarding my time and accessibility. As the date of said changes approached, my anxiety grew. I was afraid of old patterns repeating in this new season of life sans COVID-19 restrictions to hold the line.

I did a lot of deep healing work during the pandemic. I started therapy and Spiritual direction. After living in a predominantly white community for over a decade, I left my predominantly white church and began to deconstruct and decolonize my faith practice. Black womanist theology, Black liberation theology, bell hooks, and James Baldwin ministered to my soul in a transformative way. I journaled, and I allowed myself to rest. I reevaluated how my life was structured, and for the first time since becoming a mother, I made room for myself. As a result, I took steps to reclaim my time and identity as a Tamil-Malayalee woman living in a place far away from my people. I 'quiet-quitted' as the intermediary, the planner, and everybody's customer service representative. I allowed myself to be less available, which gave me breathing room to imagine something different for myself. Doing this helped me recognize that the roles and obligations I assumed out of a sense of duty were never my responsibility and that I could opt out. As this truth became more transparent, I felt guilty. I was changing and ready to move on, but I needed to put some people on notice.

My therapist, a Punjabi-American woman, encouraged me to set boundaries. My couples therapist, an African American Queer woman, said it was essential to my decolonizing praxis. My Spiritual Director, a Chinese American woman, said that constant sacrifice should not be equivocated with holiness and that God actually delighted in my joy. But despite the wisdom and truth of their words, I couldn't imagine doing it. The mere thought of it made me sick to my stomach. I simply couldn't get past how my setting boundaries would make someone feel. How what I had to say might hurt their feelings. My truth felt unkind, unChristian, and not 'nice.' There was no way for me to do it without being the villain; at least, that's how it felt. A lifetime of people-pleasing makes guilt a constant companion when satisfying the needs of others is not your sole pursuit. But I realized that I was pouring from an empty cup, and I didn't want to do it anymore.

In a one-on-one session, my therapist asked what I found most challenging about setting boundaries,

"Every time I think of it, it feels like I'm being aggressive,"

I answered. She sat up in her seat, leaned into the Zoom screen, eyebrows raised, and said,

"Let me reflect back to you what I am hearing, YOU, a BROWN woman, think that YOU are the aggressor for setting a boundary with someone who is violating your space and causing you harm? Sounds like some internalized racism to me."

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks, and I needed that. I needed to hear it just like that. I needed to see how absurd that thought sounded to her. At that moment, she held up a mirror when I couldn't see myself. It was one of the most liberating ways to be called out, especially by a fellow South Asian woman who understood the cultural and systemic oppression that informed my thinking. It was effortless for me to vilify myself for being human, and I had to sit with that. I had to sit with why I could affirm and fiercely defend the right to boundaries for my loved ones while simultaneously denying them for myself. I needed to stop reading about boundaries and my right to have them and finally create them.

When I initially explored boundary setting with my therapist and spouse, it was under the notion that it would be done in person. Each time I pictured it, I could only envision the emotional reaction from the person I needed to confront and their response causing me to back down from everything I needed to say. But I knew I couldn't keep doing the same thing expecting a different outcome, so I decided to write them a letter. In this medium, I could say what I want in the way that I wanted to. It would also eliminate the opportunity to modify my words based on the other person's reaction and betray myself in the process. I could be calm, thoughtful, intentional, and direct. I had given so much of my time and physical presence over the years that allowing myself the option of writing a letter versus an in-person conversation was step one to my boundary-setting.

And so, I began to write.

The process was intense. Reliving the past and writing about it, with every old feeling and emotion bubbling up to the surface, was draining. Side note: time does not heal all wounds, especially when kept unaddressed. I managed to get two paragraphs out before the tidal wave of emotions overwhelmed me. I stopped and didn't touch the letter again for several weeks. I used busyness as an excuse to leave it until a dear friend, a Native woman to Turtle Island who also happens to be a pastor, checked in to see how my letter was coming along. I confessed that I was avoiding it because of the mental abyss it dragged me into. She lovingly replied, "I wonder if you should freely write without tone policing yourself." She was right. That was exactly what I was doing! The tone police were constantly telling me I sounded like an evil witch. It was hard to remain focused and continue writing. My friend then suggested that I write what was in me to write, let it sit, and edit later. She advised that just getting it out would be cathartic even if it didn't all make the final cut. She pastored me through that process, and it got me unstuck and out of my own way.

I gave myself a deadline to send the letter and began to write every night while everyone in the house was asleep. I silenced the tone police and didn't hold back. In the quiet stillness of the night, my thoughts were clear, and I let the truth flow out of me. I didn't judge how it sounded. I allowed it to come raw and uncensored. As I saw my experiences take shape in the sentences on the screen, I felt deep compassion for myself and everything I had been through. I started to imagine how I would respond to my daughters if they confided these things to me. I would never advise them to continue putting up with it to keep the peace or castigate them for how they felt. I would encourage them to honor their inner wisdom that was telling them that something wasn't right. I would let them know that they are not selfish for feeling this way. I would tell them that in order to love others well, they must first care for themselves. By the time I finished the letter and sent it, I was no longer concerned about how it would be received. I wasn't worried about the other person's reaction because it wasn't about them anymore. This whole endeavor turned out to be an act of love and liberation by me and for me. It changed everything going forward.

I was free. Not just from the recipient of the letter, I was free from the burden of guilt and obligation to others who had tethered themselves to me without my consent. I could focus on myself, my family, and the things that matter most to me. I mentioned the voices of some of the women whose wisdom and guidance were essential on this journey. There were many. I named their gender, racial, ethnic, and Queer identities because it gave weight to their words and counsel. As women of the global majority*, they did not oversimplify what I was grappling with. They understood this wasn't about individualism but caring for myself within the bond of community and family.

Boundaries are not only meant to protect us from toxic and harmful people; sometimes, we need them with well-intentioned people and outwardly "nice" people. Sometimes it is for those who want to live vicariously through us, whose needs can never be satisfied because they have their own healing to do. Sometimes it is to preserve your mental health and well-being. For me, I was divesting from toxic theology, patriarchy, racial constructs, and cultural mores that place the needs of women like me at the bottom and our existence in endless servitude. It was about breaking free from believing other people's happiness or healing is my responsibility. Setting boundaries made room for me to live the life that I was meant to live. It taught me that access and closeness are not owed to everyone. It cannot be required or mandated. It is cultivated through genuine relationships, connection, and mutuality. Our goodness is not defined by how much we are willing to bend to the needs and demands of others, and hypervigilance has no place in loving relationships. Because wherever hypervigilance is required, safety does not exist, and I choose to no longer participate. My beloved community is where my mind and body are at ease. It is where I rest in deep love, safety, and joy. It is exclusive and for good reason. I do not feel guilty for the closeness and kinship I naturally experience with some and will not force or manufacture it with others.

You may be wondering what type of response I received to the letter; it was deflective and disappointing but also expected. It served as confirmation that I needed to do this. That I needed to stop waiting for someone else to finally see, to finally get it. I did it for myself. I drew the line on my own terms and left no room for debate.

I often think of the women in my community who have felt the same way, whose commitment to family and the collective good has been exploited. It is my deep desire that they might be encouraged and validated by my story. This is not meant to be prescriptive or a how-to. How you find freedom and set boundaries is very personal, and there is no singular correct way to do it. Sometimes, the situation warrants a discussion or something as simple as leaving a text unanswered. Whatever the method, let it be one that makes sense for you in your context and what you have the capacity to handle. This is for my South Asian sisters and sisters of the global majority, who often feel they must bear every burden. Who feel dismissed, extracted from, and erased by the world around them. You matter. You deserve to take up space, not have it encroached upon. You deserve peace. You deserve joy. Honor your inner wisdom and know you are more than worthy. Setting boundaries is a tool that is your right to implement. Be gentle with yourself as you consider, and may it bring you closer to a more whole and liberated you.

Author's Note: I use the term 'global majority' rather than BIPOC or POC to identify and dignify communities apart from whiteness.