When Your Loved Ones Don’t Respect Boundaries

Lessons from my codependent mother

Boundaries are a part of self-care. They are healthy, normal, and necessary. ~Doreen Virtue

We need clear, healthy boundaries

We don’t get a handbook to show us how to navigate our relationships. We have to watch and learn from others around us. If our caregivers aren’t clear on their boundaries, how can we know ours?

Boundaries are sometimes confusing or nonexistent. Other times people repeatedly ignore them. Once I started to see what my boundaries were, I still allowed others to cross them. At first I believed this to be from low self-esteem from my years of heavy drinking. I’m sure those factor in, but there’s more to my story.

Upon reflection, I saw a long-standing pattern. Most of my family members don’t take me seriously when I assert my needs and limits. They hint at what they need without asking directly (like hovering near a drawer to get a utensil), or they make unreasonable demands on me.

It’s no wonder I never learned appropriate ways to manage boundaries. I’ve been lashing out in anger, repeatedly expecting them to honor them when they just won’t.

Here’s what it’s like to live in a codependent family system.

Let’s start with the woman who birthed me

My birth mother rarely respects anyone’s boundaries. She’s mentally unwell and her behavior is socially unacceptable most of the time.

Her Schizophrenia diagnosis is only a part of the equation. We’ve been embroiled in a codependent relationship my entire life. I’ve had to continually set strong limits with her so I can be emotionally safe.

I’ll never forget her volatile mood swings. She’s still overly emotional and impulsive. One day when she was angry at my dad, she took me on a drive and told me all kinds of things about him I probably didn’t need to know. I think I was maybe 5–6 years old. She treated me like a sister or best friend, venting to me about her frustrations with her husband. She’s been wandering and homeless for most of my life. I lived with her alone for a short time after my dad divorced her and moved out.

I have vague memories of being locked in my room, of scrambled eggs with a block of spinach, and a messy kitchen. Our toilet was inoperable, pipes frozen, dishes unwashed. I was told later that my mother had neglected me to the point of starvation.

I ended up stealing food at school. My mother wrote a bizarre letter to the local judge presiding over their case. The letter and the school report about stolen food was enough to elicit concern. My dad was granted full custody. This was back in the 70s, when mothers would typically get custody.

The judge personally called my dad and told him to come get me. He showed up at a time I think my mother was out, packed up my stuff and took me away from that house. It was just before my 8th birthday. I couldn’t bring everything. I wanted my big pink hippo, but it stayed.

My mother was relentless. Once my dad remarried the woman I now call Mom, she got our address and phone number. She called the house multiple times, leaving long, scathing commentaries on our answering machine. This went on for years.

When I let her talk to me, she would go on and on about my dad and “that woman”, how they’re living in sin. They were keeping me away from her, and she needed to save me from their evil ways.

Once I shared with her that I was going to a junior high school dance. I was really excited and happy to attend. She told me I was forbidden to go, that Madonna’s music was evil and she didn’t want me listening to her. I was particularly angry at her that day. Besides all the judgment and ridiculousness, she thought she had the right to stop me from going.

She would send me long, elaborate letters about finding God and being together again, often talking about saving me from an awful life with my dad and “her”. Sometimes she’d include a pamphlet from an evangelical church group. Other times, she added writing and poetry contest information. I’m grateful she at least believes in my writing talent.

They were postmarked “General Delivery”, since she usually didn’t have anywhere permanent to stay. She had the nerve to question why I never sent her anything. Such is life with a self-centered codependent. She assumed I magically knew where to send it. She also assumed I wanted to stay connected.

I never wanted her to contact me because she was overbearing and had unrealistic expectations. She would judge, condemn, and criticize me for beliefs and choices. She’d say my dad and stepmom were possessed by Satan, that Dad owed her money and their brown Honda Civic. She was under the delusion that God wanted the three of us to be together as a family. She truly believed my dad still loved her and he would eventually see the light.

She’s struggled with acceptance and surrender. She didn’t want her relationship with my father to end. She’s lived in a fantasy world about it for my entire life. She also refuses to respect others’ boundaries and limits. She eventually traveled down the coast of California to where we lived. She would follow us everywhere. She once showed up at my polling place and I told her in no uncertain terms to leave me alone.

I was not kind about it back then. I was tired of being crowded. I was angry that she edged her way into every aspect of our lives. It’s sad to me now that she felt the need to try that hard to be seen. She needed that much validation and attention. She’s a mother who couldn’t find an appropriate way to connect with her daughter.

When I was newly sober, I made amends for being mean to her. I found her on the street, waited forever for her to use the restroom, and listened to her very real complaints about someone discriminating against her at a café. She was homeless at the time.

Our interaction was ok until I told her I had to leave. She didn’t want me to go and ended up having a meltdown in the middle of a shopping plaza. I had to turn around and walk away while she screamed at me about “not paying attention to your mother.” I practiced what I had intended, to set clear boundaries without being emotionally reactive.

When my first daughter was a baby, I approached her after my dad’s choral concert. She looked sad but delighted to see me. I think she was overwhelmed by my willingness to engage with her.

I know she was there because she wanted to be a part of our lives. As a fellow mother, I finally felt deep compassion for her. I offered her a ride somewhere and she declined.

That was in 2011. I haven’t seen her since. She hasn’t met my daughters and I don’t have a strong urge for them to meet. We’ve been estranged most of my life, and I feel better with us being apart.

She found me again through my dad. I called her. I never do that, because I’m afraid to open a Pandora’s box of boundary-crossing shenanigans. But we talked and she was respectful for the first time ever.

She gave me her cell phone number and told me I could call anytime, even in the middle of the night. I was so touched by the notion that she could behave like a mother would. I felt a grateful teardrop.

We had several good years of sporadically talking on the phone. There were times we disagreed about certain things in the world, and that was ok. She corrected herself a few times and honored my differing opinion. She seemed kind of normal, whatever that means.

Nowadays she has some somewhat reasonable moments. She calls and leaves a message to call her back and says thank you. But she’ll still get all tangled up when I don’t call her soon enough. Her messages turn sour and I don’t call. It’s a vicious cycle.

When she starts criticizing me for not returning her call in the last 43 days and 17 minutes, I won’t call her back. That’s my boundary. Some days are better than others. She recently sent me a little money, which was rather motherly of her. I thought that was appropriate and a kind gesture.

My mother is smart. She’s survived the streets for many years. When she’s stuck in self-centeredness, she uses manipulation to get her way. She used to ask strangers to use their phone for an “emergency call” and stay on for hours. She’ll occasionally ask me to pack her storage in my car, rent a trailer, and take her on a long road trip. This particular request had been made several times.

But here’s what I’ve learned.

If my boundaries are clear and secure, I don’t worry about any of that. I’ve finally learned that “No” is a complete sentence. Even when someone doesn’t like my answer. Even when they get mad about it. I have the right to say No.

I always have the right to change my mind. I also have the right to choose my relationships, no matter who they are. There’s alway more room for me to grow, especially with my other two parents. I’ve been staying with family while we wait for housing paperwork to process in another state. And darn it all, those boundary issues keep coming up.

I’ve noticed their blatant disregard. I’ve heard the excuse-making and dismissal of their importance. I’ve been judged and criticized for the choices I deem important. I’ve been discounted for relevant concerns.

The most glaring problem is dismissal. It’s obvious that they don’t agree with some of my boundaries. They don’t have to agree because I get to say what’s important.

I still struggle with finding and using my voice with my parents. I have more opportunities when it comes to my children. I’m feeling mama bear instincts coming out, as they put me to the test.

Here’s what’s different now.

I get to practice speaking up. I use my clear, strong voice to assert my needs and express when they aren’t being met. I get to make my own decisions about my relationships.

I was never taught a healthy way to prioritize my boundaries. I didn’t always have a clear example of how to get my needs met without explosion or internalization.

I went to a recovery group in 2009 to address my own codependency. Now I have a spiritual tool kit packed with healthy ways to handle when I’m being ignored or dismissed. I learned what my boundaries actually are and how to maintain them.

I learned how to mean what I say and say what I mean, without saying it mean. I discovered that I’m responsible for my own happiness. Dependence on others to me happy can leave me disappointed.

Did you know you can be happy even when others aren’t happy with you?

I didn’t. Now I’m in a place of acceptance. People are going to disagree with me, and that’s ok. I’ll still be able to find contentment and happiness, even when others around me are falling apart or angry with me.

I know my needs matter even when others around me don’t always reflect that. When someone else disrespects our boundaries, we have a choice. We can speak up for ourselves. We can walk away when we feel unsafe. We can let it go if that feels right. We can end the relationship, even if they birthed us.

We all have rights and responsibilities.

We have a right to our personal space. We have a right to say no. We have a right to say yes. We’re responsible for our feelings, our needs and desires, and choosing how others treat us. Establishing and maintaining boundaries creates a safe space for you and those you love.

Relationships with healthy boundaries thrive. If you want something from me, ask. I might say yes and I might say no. If I say no, you’ll need to find a way to take care of yourself. That’s a move in the right direction. I’m willing to be clear and direct and respect your need for the same. If I say yes, come closer. Let’s enjoy each other. Now that’s a relationship that works.

Let’s stay in touch. You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and LinkedIn. Submit your amazing stories to my Medium publication, Gratefully Yours. Thanks for reading.