The shape of my remaining time
There comes a point in life when boundaries stop feeling like walls. They become the shape of what’s left.
I used to think boundaries were about saying no to others — protecting my time, my space, my energy. But lately I’ve realized they’re really about saying yes to what’s essential. Each boundary draws the outline of my remaining time on this earth — the work still to be birthed, the creative fire still to be tended, the quiet still needed to listen for what wants to come through me.
For years, I overextended — holding others’ crises, making exceptions, stretching past my own limits because I could. But the truth is, we don’t have endless time. When we reach a certain age, the awareness of mortality isn’t frightening; it’s clarifying. It strips away what doesn’t belong.
My boundaries are no longer defenses; they are devotion.
They mark the sacred container of the life that remains — and everything inside that container gets my full presence.
After so many years of holding space for others’ creativity, it’s time to hold that same sacred space for my own.
