Ep. 329: Healing Old Wounds: How Boundaries Helped Me Reconnect With Someone I Love

If you’re on my email list, you’ve probably heard that my brother and I have reconciled. I may have mentioned it here briefly, but I haven’t shared the deeper story. And even though it’s a little late for this, I feel a real need to protect his anonymity in a way I never did before. So today I’m going to focus on principles, not personalities. Because the bigger story isn’t really about him. It’s about what happens when you do deep inner work and build real internal safety.

My brother has had a major wake up call recently. He’s been in a long, very heavy depression that made even basic adult tasks feel impossible. Things have shifted for him. He’s getting help, he’s talking openly, and for the first time in our lives we’re having conversations that are honest, direct, vulnerable, and healing. We’ve each made amends to the other. I’m sure there’s more to come for both of us. But something happened the other day that really struck me. I texted my sweetheart and said, “I’m enjoying my brother’s company. And it’s amazing what clear communication and healthy boundaries can do for a relationship.”

And I meant it.

His situation changed unexpectedly, so he’s been staying with me for a few nights. And what’s wild to me is how much I’ve genuinely enjoyed having him here. In the past it was… complicated. Partly because of his struggles, but also because I didn’t have the ability to take care of myself. I couldn’t protect my time, my energy, or even my preferences. I didn’t know how to say, “This is okay with me and this isn’t.”

But now I do.

So he’s staying here with clear guidance. I tell him things like, “I’m about to teach a workshop, I’ll be in the basement, please don’t disturb me.” Or, “You can eat anything in the house, but don’t finish the last of something without checking with me first.” I gave him the couch in my office so he has privacy and a door he can close. I told him when I’d have people over to co-work and that he needed to be out of the house during that time. I told him when he needed to be gone so I could be with my partner. And I’ve been very open about what’s okay and what’s not.

The surprising thing is that he respects every boundary. And the bigger surprise is that I’m calm and steady while setting them.

A few weeks ago, in our first sit down together, I told him I wanted to apologize for keeping him at such a distance for so long. I said it wasn’t because I didn’t love him. It was because I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with the level of crisis he was in. I’ve spent my life rescuing, fixing, and saving people. And when everything fell apart for him, I knew immediately that I couldn’t take responsibility for it and I wasn’t going to step in and fix anything.

I told him I might have been too strong with some of my boundaries, and that if any of that caused harm, I was sorry.

He looked at me and said, “What are you apologizing for? You have nothing to apologize for. I practically tortured you as a child.”

Hearing that, out loud, from his mouth, at age sixty two, was like my internal world shifted on its axis.

Because through my internal family systems therapy work this year, I realized for the very first time that my brother bullied me when we were kids. And a few weeks later it hit me that it wasn’t only bullying. It was abuse. And I hadn’t allowed myself to see that until this year.

He was bullied relentlessly in school. It was severe enough that teachers and administrators got involved back in the sixties and seventies when bullying wasn’t even a word people used. In my child mind, I decided he was the one who got bullied in the family, so I couldn’t be the one who was hurt. There could only be one victim. I applied that same distorted thinking in other places too. I thought he was the smart one, which meant I couldn’t be. It wasn’t until my twenties that I realized, oh, I’m smart too.

So to sit across from him now, as an adult, and hear him say he abused me, and that he’s sorry, is something I’m still integrating. It’s like my insides are being rearranged in real time.

He said something to the effect that, “what makes it worse is that I did you what was done to me.”

And I told him, “This is exactly how intergenerational family dysfunction works. We pass on what was done to us. Even when we tell ourselves we’ll never do it. When you’re bullied, you’re full of fear and rage and helplessness. You can’t take it out on the bully. So you take it out somewhere else.” That doesn’t mean his beahviro was okay, it was not. It means it’s understandable and that it came from somewhere. He’s not the first person to be bullied who then bullied others.

These conversations have been incredibly honest and raw, and the only reason I can have them is because I’ve built the internal safety to hold them. I know in my bones that I’ll take care of myself no matter what. If he gets triggered, or flips into old patterns, or lashes out, I’ll protect myself. I didn’t have that ability as a kid or even into my 50’s until I got into recovery, so I became a people pleaser. But I’m not that person anymore.

And speaking of people pleasing, we talked about that too. He once said he always felt like we were a team when we were kids. And I told him about the dual experience I had. I loved him and wanted good things for him. And at the same time, I was terrified of being associated with him because he truly didn’t care what anyone thought. He’d shout at neighbors. He’d stand up to adults. He didn’t care. And I cared so much that I could barely breathe.

I gave him an example of something he’d done as a kid, and when I told him how it felt to me, I realized I had never said those words about my dual experience with him out loud in my whole life. Not even to myself.

And that’s the theme here. When you’re a people pleaser, you do everything you can to be palatable. To be accepted. To avoid judgment. And sometimes that means stepping away from people you love because you’re afraid their behavior will reflect badly on you. That’s what I did.

But because I’ve done so much internal work, I don’t live like that anymore. I care what people think, of course, but not at the expense of my own integrity. I care more about what I think of me. That shift is a huge part of why I can be in relationship with him now. I’m patient with him. I’m present with him. I’m firm with him. I tell him when I’m resting, when I need quiet, when I don’t want to talk. And for the first time, I see him responding.

We’ve watched Hallmark movies together. He’ll start talking and I’ll tell him to stop because I want to watch. I never did that in my life. My blood would boil silently instead. Now I just speak up. And he responds. Not because he’s perfect or healed. Because I’m different.

And that’s the real point of this whole story.

Yes, he’s getting help. Yes, he’s doing his own work. But my ability to be in relationship with him now is a direct result of the deep healing I’ve done. The coping skills I’ve learned. The self-trust I’ve built. The boundaries I’ve mastered. The emotional safety I’ve created inside my own body.

Because here’s the truth. You don’t need the other person to change in order for you to transform a relationship. When you build internal safety, you show up differently. You set limits without guilt. You protect yourself without shutting down. You communicate clearly instead of hoping people will read your mind. You stop people pleasing. And you give the relationship a real chance to become something new.

That’s what I’m experiencing with my brother right now. Something new. Something surprising. Something tender. And something I never thought I would feel.

And I’m sharing it because you might have your own person. Someone you love but have complicated feelings about. Someone from your past. Someone who hurt you. Someone you’ve kept at a distance. And I want you to know that healing is possible, not because they get better, but because you do.

And when you start healing from the inside out, the whole world shifts.