Things Boundaries are Allowed to Do
Boundaries Are Not Walls — They Are Moral Commitments
There are a lot of books about boundaries. Most of them frame boundaries as personal wellness tools: ways to reduce stress, avoid burnout, or keep difficult people at arm’s length. They often sound therapeutic, managerial, or vaguely corporate.
Things Boundaries Are Allowed to Do is not that kind of book.
This is a moral book.
It begins not with psychology, but with an ancient question: Who is my neighbor? And just beneath it, an even older one: Am I my brother’s keeper? The book insists that before we talk about boundaries as techniques, we have to talk about responsibility—especially responsibility where power is unequal, vulnerability is real, and harm is possible.
That framing changes everything.
Boundaries Are About Power, Not Preference
One of the most clarifying claims in the book is deceptively simple: boundaries are something you place around yourself, not something you impose on others. That distinction alone dismantles a great deal of misuse.
A boundary does not say, “You must behave this way.”
A boundary says, “This is what I will do. This is what I will not do.”
That inward direction matters because the book is relentless about power. Parents over children. Adults over teens. Leaders over followers. Teachers over students. Clergy over congregants. Employers over workers. Anyone with access over anyone with less ability to leave.
Where there is power, there is responsibility. Not intent. Not self-image. Responsibility.
The book refuses the modern temptation to treat harm as something that only counts after it happens. Instead, it treats boundaries as preventive ethics—structures that exist so harm is less likely to occur at all.
The Good Samaritan Wasn’t “Nice”
The biblical material in this book is not ornamental. It does real work.
When Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan, he does not ask who caused the harm, whether the injured man made good choices, or whether helping might be misunderstood. He asks one question only: Who acted as a neighbor?
The answer is uncomfortable because it removes moral neutrality. The neighbor is not the one with the right intentions or the correct theology. The neighbor is the one who did not pass by.
This book draws a straight line from that story to modern boundary failures. The refusal to set limits is often framed as kindness, trust, or generosity. But the book insists that love without limits is not love when power is involved. It is abdication.
Boundaries are not suspicion. They are stewardship.
Why the Square Dance Matters
One of the most unexpectedly effective sections of the book uses square dancing as an extended allegory for consent, safety, and responsibility.
In a square dance, a man offers a hand. He does not grab. The hand is a stable platform, not a grip. The woman chooses how—or whether—to place her hand on it. The structure is public. The rules are shared. Visibility is built in. Nothing depends on secrecy or private interpretation.
When someone grips instead of offering support, no one needs a lecture to know something is wrong. People simply understand: that person is not safe.
The brilliance of the example is that it shows how boundaries make safety visible. They do not require accusations. They do not require panic. They allow a community to respond calmly and proportionally, limiting access rather than escalating conflict.
That same logic is then applied to dating, adolescence, adult authority, and situations where “misunderstandings” are often used to excuse pressure.
“Not Safe” Is Not a Moral Verdict
Another crucial contribution of the book is its precision around the phrase “not safe.”
“Not safe” does not mean evil.
It does not mean irredeemable.
It does not even always mean malicious.
Sometimes it simply means: this person does not respect the boundaries that make this space work.
That precision allows boundaries to function without turning every violation into a trial. It also prevents the opposite error—minimizing discomfort because it doesn’t rise to the level of catastrophe.
The book is clear: being unsafe for one person is still enough. You do not need consensus. You do not need proof. You do not need permission to protect yourself.
When Kindness Turns Transactional
One of the most incisive sections names a pattern many people recognize but struggle to articulate: the person who treats time, attention, or patience as a down payment on access.
The book refuses to romanticize persistence after “no.” It draws a clean line between relational interest and transactional entitlement. When someone continues after a boundary, reframes discomfort as confusion, or treats consent as something to be negotiated, the issue is no longer miscommunication.
It is control.
Boundaries, the book argues, are the only language entitlement understands.
Prevention Without Blame
Perhaps most importantly, the book handles trauma with rare care. It is explicit that boundaries do not guarantee safety. Some people escalate without warning. Some violence cannot be prevented. None of that is the fault of the person harmed.
Talking about boundaries is not about assigning responsibility to victims. It is about improving odds, reducing exposure, and preserving dignity where possible.
And when harm does occur, the book does not pivot to moralizing. It pivots to care.
Why This Book Matters Now
We live in a moment where boundaries are either weaponized or dismissed. They are treated as selfishness on one side and as control on the other. This book cuts through that false binary.
It insists that boundaries are not about comfort. They are about care.
Not about fear. About responsibility.
Not about suspicion. About wisdom.
In a culture that often confuses access with intimacy and pressure with passion, Things Boundaries Are Allowed to Do offers something quietly radical: clarity.
And clarity, as this book shows again and again, is one of the most loving things we can offer each other.