The Emotional Cost of Connection

Our household keeps things pretty tight.
We travel with our kids. We eat dinner as a unit. We don’t outsource much. And while some of that is preference—truthfully, a lot of it is about control. (Mostly mine.)

When our kids spend time with others, they often come back completely out of sorts. Maybe they held it together too hard and finally let go with their safe people. Or maybe they were overstimulated, over-sugared, and under-boundaried—left running on a system pushed past capacity.

And then it becomes our job to regulate all of that.
To repair.
To re-ground.

So yeah, we’re cautious with outside support.
Even love can come at a cost.

Sometimes just the suggestion of dinner or joining an outing feels like a tightrope walk when I’m already stretched too thin. And the worst part? Even thinking about saying no brings a whole new kind of stress—because I don’t want people to feel rejected or unloved. It’s not about that. It’s just… sometimes I don’t have the bandwidth. Not even for a quick hello. Not even for company in the stands.

Even allowing someone near often requires performance—a level of presence and emotional regulation I can’t always access. And when you’re already maxed out, adding one more person, even someone you care about, can tip the scale.

Family doesn’t always get it.

For a long time, my dad had this unspoken rule: when he was back in the country, you made time. No matter what else was going on, his availability became the priority. And that might’ve worked when I was younger and unattached—but now, with two kids and a life that runs on nap windows and mental load, it just doesn’t.

Eventually, I had to draw a clear boundary.
And to his credit—he heard me. He accepted it.
And now? Our relationship works better than it has in years, because it’s built on mutual respect instead of silent pressure.

That’s the thing about boundaries.
They’re not rejection. They’re relationship-saving tools.
But not everyone sees it that way.

Sometimes honesty lands as a slight.
Sometimes saying no is taken as you don’t care.

But here’s what I’m learning:

It’s okay to protect your peace.
It’s okay to say, “Not right now.”
It’s okay to need space without guilt.

It’s not about pushing people away.
It’s about not pushing yourself past the point of breaking—just to make everyone else comfortable.