My Boundaries Are Not Up for Debate

~ They Are My Medicine ~

There was a time when I would have called these boundaries “too much.”

Too rigid.

Too demanding.

Too unrealistic for the world we live in.

I would’ve shamed myself for needing so much just to feel safe.

But what I’ve come to understand is this:

I’m not asking for too much.

I’m finally asking for what I deserve.

These boundaries?

They’re not walls to keep love out.

They are sacred gates that protect the little girl in me who never had the right to say no.

The girl who was groomed to believe that being sexually desired was the same as being loved.

The girl who confused silence for safety, because silence was the only safe place.

The girl who was taught that compliance meant connection, because obedience was required to be valued. 

Love, praise, attention, appreciation were rewards given only when earned. 

The girl whose body was stolen long ago.

A body objectified. Commodified.

In a twisted web of rewards and consequences.

Littered with trip wires and booby traps.

With vast chasms of black holes to fall into.

Loosing little pieces.

Little pieces. Little Pieces. Little Pieces.

Body taken before she learned it was hers alone to share.

Screams silenced until she finally had the courage to speak.

Nightmares forgotten until she was finally strong enough to remember.

And now—this woman I’ve become?

She is rewriting the rules.

Let me be clear:

I’m not having sex with anyone until I am loved, proudly chosen, and emotionally held.

Not because I’m playing games.

Not because I’m trying anyone’s patience.

But because I’m still carrying shame that never belonged to me.

Because I have hurt myself enough believing the lies I learned to survive.

I no longer believe that I need to fawn to be worthy of love.

I don’t need to suffer in order to receive love.

I don’t need to be chosen, the favorite, special, or perfect.

I don’t need to be quiet, complacent, obedient, or self-sacrificing.

I don’t need to abandon myself just to survive.

I am self-aware to know what I need to safely share myself.

Before I open my body to someone—my soul must be seen, my triggers must be respected, and my story must be understood.

This is not about withholding love.

It’s about offering it wisely.

This is not about being unable to get over my past.

It’s the medicine my spirit needs to heal my soul.

It’s the way I give myself the love I never received. 

I used to fall in love fast.

Too fast.

Before I even knew if the person in front of me was safe.

Before they ever had a chance to feel the same way.

I lived for the dream of their love for me.

I longed for my wish to come true with all my heart and soul.

I worked for it, I poured myself into it and paid for it.

I gave far more than what was ever asked of me to give.

I shared my body before I ever felt safe enough to disrobe.

I believed this sacrificial submission was irresitable. 

I was convinced that these qualities made me loveable.

Then the little girl woke up.

At first, all I felt was the need for love.

It came with a despiration. 

A frantic force I’d never felt before.

I was willing to do anything for it.

All these “loveable” qualities were merely intuitive rituals.

Repeated as if from script.

Remnant tools once used for survival.

They were never meant for love.

Yet, I was laser focused on perfecting my performance.

Where did I go wrong? What can I do next time?

What broken pieces need fixing?

What imperfections need perfecting?

Who do I need to become before I’m found worthy?

And now?

I choose to build emotional intimacy and friendship first.

I don’t want chemistry that burns me up—I want connection that roots me down.

Because I’m done performing for affection.

I’m done mistaking survival patterns for soul ties.

I understand what the little girl has been crying for all this time.

I can assure you that she’s not desperate for someonew to love her.

She doesn’t need to be rescued from herself.

She loves herself. She’s strong enough to save herself.

She needs to feel safe. She needs her love to feel safe.

These boundaries ensure that the love I invite in is safe.

This is to honor her and all the pain she carried for so long.

This is to protect her from ever having to carry that pain again.

I have no space for:

• Blatant Lies
• Unmatched Effort
• Abusive Behaviors
• Friends with Benefits
• Unkept Promises
• Willful Ignorance

No, thank you.

I’ve had my fill.

I’ve lived that story already.

And I bled through the pages.

I will not date anyone who isn’t committed to their own healing.

If you’re not self-aware, not in therapy, not curious about your triggers, not willing to hold space for discomfort—you’re not ready for someone like me.

And that’s okay.

I value what I need.

I’m not going back to the version of myself that tolerated crumbs and called it communion.

Let me say this gently and with love:

If you haven’t made an effort to understand the weight of incest trauma—please don’t ask for access to my heart.

Don’t romanticize my resilience without honoring the pain that built it.

Don’t touch my body if you haven’t touched the truth of what it means to live in a body that was once a battlefield.

If you want to love me, you have to learn me.

Not just the words I write now, but the pages I was once too afraid to read aloud.

You must understand the silent scripts, and the wisdom they once held.

These were the wars I waged and won to stay alive.

They became battles I repeated everytime I turned my back on my truth.

Before I enter any relationship, we’re going to talk about how we handle conflict.

We’re going to name our triggers.

We’re going to agree on repair tools.

We’re going to map out what safety looks like in real-time.

Not just on the good days, but when trauma hits the room without knocking.

Because love without structure is not love—it’s chaos with a pretty face.

These boundaries are not my armor.

They’re my medicine.

They’re how I protect my peace, honor my pain, and choose love without abandoning myself.

And if that’s too much for someone?

That’s okay.

Because I am not lowering the bar I fought to raise.

I am not betraying my inner child to keep someone else comfortable.

I will wait as long as I need to for a love that feels like safety.

Like truth.

Like home.

Love without safety is a delusion.

It’s a fantasy.

It’s a performance.

I deserve real love.

I deserve to feel it.

I deserve to receive it.

I deserve it because I’ve done the hard work of loving myself first.

I’m amazed at the woman I’ve become. 

And now, I know exactly what I’m worth.

Written with love, by a woman who once survived for love—and now lives in it.