I wrote this post a year a go and I’ve decided to post it kind of late. Here’s the whole post:
This post is deeply personal to me, and it belongs right here in this little sanctuary I call the “Personal Corner.” It’s not the flashiest part of the website, but it’s where my truth lives. It’s where I feel safe to unpack the quiet lessons life is teaching me, one hard-earned boundary at a time.
The last couple of days have been emotionally exhausting. There was a swirl of family expectations, miscommunication, and cultural weight pressing down on my chest like a storm cloud that wouldn’t let up. It left me feeling tender, but also clear-eyed. Because sometimes, the most difficult things to say are the ones we most need to say.
Story Time: The Trouble with Saying No
Last week, my cousin… let’s call him Ron. Ron sent me a message. He said he was planning to come to Manila to look for an agency that could help him get work abroad again. While sorting things out, he asked if he could stay at my place for a few days until he found a dorm or some place more permanent.
To give you some background, Ron and I both grew up in Mindanao. In 2015, I moved to Manila alone to study for the Bar Exams. Since then, I’ve built a quiet life here. Every piece of furniture, every late-night meal eaten at my desk, every peaceful hour spent in solitude… these are the fruits of years of balancing work, study, and silence. I live in a small apartment, and while it’s not fancy, it’s mine. It is my space of peace, of healing, and of sovereignty.
Naturally, my first instinct was to help. That’s what family does, right? Especially in our culture, where showing up for each other is both expected and deeply ingrained. But this time, I couldn’t offer what I didn’t have.
So, I told Ron the truth. I said there simply wasn’t enough room in my apartment. I didn’t have a spare bed, a sofa, or even a quiet corner to offer. I recorded a voice message, hoping he would hear the care in my voice even as I said no. I told him I’d still love to treat him to dinner or help him navigate the city once he arrived. He responded warmly, said he understood, and I thought the matter had been handled with grace.
That was last week.
Monday Morning Misunderstanding
Then Monday arrived like a slap of cold water.
I had three missed calls and a flood of messages from Ron. He had already arrived in Manila, and without asking again or confirming… he had assumed he would be staying at my place. The first message came in at 5:00 a.m., but I didn’t see them until the afternoon. My Messenger notifications have been turned off since law school. That habit started as a way to manage my focus, but in moments like this, it becomes a double-edged sword.
My chest tightened when I read the messages. It got worse when I saw a message from my aunt thanking me for taking Ron in. She sounded grateful, as if everything had already been settled.
I called her right away. My hands were cold, my voice careful but firm. I explained that I had already told Ron I couldn’t accommodate him. I thought I had been clear. She went quiet on the other end of the line, and when she finally responded, there was hurt in her tone. That quiet kind of disappointment. The kind that makes your stomach drop.
And still, I held my ground.
The Culture of Obligation
Later, I called Ron. He explained that his mother had misunderstood. She thought that as long as he brought his own foldable bed, everything would be fine. I felt a small knot in my chest loosen when I heard that he had found another place to stay…at his uncle’s house. Not mine. But the emotional weight of the past 24 hours lingered.
You see, it’s never just about logistics. Not here.
In Filipino culture, we have a concept called utang na loob… a kind of soul-deep debt of gratitude. Years ago, my aunt helped me in a time of need. I’ve never forgotten that. I’ve done my best to show my thanks in both words and actions. So the thought of disappointing her felt almost like a betrayal. A fracture in something sacred.
I turned to a mentor, someone older and wiser. I needed to hear another voice, one that was outside of the situation but still understood the pull of our cultural tides. And he told me something that stuck with me:
“You don’t have to feel guilty for drawing a boundary. It’s okay to feel sad, but guilt has no place when your reasons are real and your words were kind.”
He was right.
What Boundaries Really Mean
This experience forced me to look at boundaries not as barriers, but as expressions of love… love for myself, love for the life I’ve built, and even love for the other person. Because honesty is a form of respect. So is clarity.
It still stung. I won’t pretend it didn’t. But I realized that it’s possible to feel sadness and still stand by your decision. You can say no with a soft heart and steady voice. You can choose yourself, and still care deeply for others.
Boundaries, after all, are not meant to shut people out. They are meant to protect what we hold sacred inside. And sometimes, saying no is the kindest thing we can do for everyone involved.
A Gentle Reminder for the Future
So here I am, still processing, still learning. Still carrying this lesson like a stone polished by water… smooth in some parts, jagged in others.
Saying no doesn’t make you cold. Holding space for yourself doesn’t make you selfish. It makes you human. It makes you real. And it makes you capable of showing up for others from a place of truth, not resentment.
“Boundaries are not just about keeping others out.
They are about honoring what you’ve built within.”
If you’re in a season of your life where you’re learning to draw the line, I see you.
I hope you remember that it’s okay to be both compassionate and firm.
And most of all, I hope you know that protecting your peace is never something you need to apologize for.
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