Boundaries get talked about a lot in therapy spaces and on social media. Set boundaries. Hold boundaries. Don’t let people violate your boundaries. Protect your peace. It all sounds straightforward until you try to actually do it, and then it gets complicated fast.
Because somewhere in the process of learning to protect yourself, it’s possible to go too far. To build something that looks like a boundary but functions more like a wall. And the difference between the two isn’t always obvious from the inside.
What Boundaries Are “Supposed” to Do
A boundary, in theory, is supposed to protect you while still allowing connection. It’s the thing that says “this is okay with me, and this isn’t.” It creates clarity about where you end and someone else begins. It makes relationships possible by defining what’s sustainable for you.
Someone with healthy boundaries might say no to working late when they have plans. They might tell a friend “I can’t take on that kind of emotional support right now, but I care about you.” They might end a conversation that’s becoming disrespectful. The boundary protects their energy, their time, their wellbeing—but it doesn’t shut people out entirely.
The thing about functional boundaries is they’re specific. They’re about particular behaviors or situations, not about the person as a whole. “I need you to call before coming over” is a boundary. “You can’t be part of my life anymore because you might show up unannounced” might be edging toward wall territory.
When Protection Becomes Isolation
Walls look like boundaries from certain angles, but they do something different. They’re broader, more absolute, less flexible. Where boundaries create limits within relationships, walls tend to prevent relationships from forming in the first place.
This often happens for understandable reasons. Maybe someone’s been hurt repeatedly. Maybe past relationships felt unsafe or overwhelming. Maybe letting people close has historically led to being taken advantage of. At some point, the logical conclusion becomes: don’t let people close.
“I see this a lot with people who’ve done trauma work,” says Kayla Nelson , MA, LPC, and EMDR Therapist in Denver. “They’ve learned they need to protect themselves, which is true. But sometimes the protection becomes so comprehensive that it doesn’t leave room for connection, even with safe people.”
The wall might look like never sharing anything personal, even with close friends. Or assuming negative intent from anyone who gets close. Or ending relationships at the first sign of conflict or disappointment. Or keeping everyone at such a distance that no one really knows you.
And from the inside, this might feel like self-care. Like finally putting yourself first. Like refusing to be hurt again. Which are all reasonable goals—but if they result in isolation, something’s gotten off track.
The Fear (and Anxiety) Underneath
The tricky thing about walls is they usually form around something tender. Some hurt that feels too risky to expose again. Some disappointment that felt unbearable. Some version of yourself that didn’t feel acceptable to other people.
Walls often say: “If I let you close enough to really see me, you’ll hurt me” or “If I need anything from you, you’ll let me down” or “If I’m not perfect, you’ll leave.” And sometimes those expectations come from real experience. People have been hurt, have been let down, have been abandoned.
But walls don’t actually address the hurt—they just make sure it can’t happen again by making sure nothing can happen again. Which works, in a sense. You can’t be disappointed by people you never let in. You can’t be abandoned by people who were never close in the first place.
The cost is that you also can’t be fully known. Can’t be supported. Can’t experience the kind of connection that requires some vulnerability and risk.
Your Mental Wellness: How to Tell the Difference
This is where it gets personal and complicated, because only you know what’s actually happening in your relationships. But there are some questions that might be worth sitting with:
Do your boundaries allow for closeness with people who’ve proven trustworthy, or do they keep everyone at the same distance regardless of their behavior?
Can you adjust your boundaries based on context and the specific person, or are they rigid across all situations?
Do your boundaries protect specific needs (your time, your energy, your values), or are they more about protecting yourself from feeling anything uncomfortable?
When someone respects your boundary, does that create more trust and openness, or does it not really change anything?
Do you have anyone in your life who really knows you, or are you somewhat isolated even when you’re around people?
Nelson sometimes asks clients: “If someone did everything right—respected your boundaries, showed up consistently, proved themselves trustworthy—would there be space for them to get close to you? Or would the answer still be no?”
If the answer is no across the board, that might be worth looking at.
The Vulnerability of Real Boundaries
Here’s what makes actual boundaries harder than walls: they require ongoing relationship. You have to stay engaged enough to communicate what you need, to notice when something isn’t working, to navigate the inevitable moments when boundaries bump up against someone else’s needs.
That’s vulnerable. It means being clear about what matters to you, which means letting people see what matters to you. It means occasionally having uncomfortable conversations. It means risking that someone might not respond well, and then having to figure out what to do with that.
Walls feel safer because they handle all of that in advance. But they also prevent the possibility of relationships that might actually be different. That might actually be safe. That might actually work.
Moving from walls toward boundaries doesn’t mean dropping all your protection. It’s not about becoming open to everyone or ignoring red flags or letting people treat you however they want. It’s more about creating space for discernment—the ability to assess individual people and situations rather than assuming everyone is a threat.
That process takes time, especially if the walls formed for good reasons. It probably requires some support, some safety, some practice with lower-stakes relationships before trying it with higher-stakes ones.
But maybe it’s worth considering that the goal isn’t just protection. It’s protection that still leaves room for the kind of connection that makes life feel less lonely. And that requires boundaries that have doors in them—ones that can open, at least sometimes, for the right people.