Zero tolerance policy
“Grace without boundaries isn’t compassion — it’s self-abandonment.”
Someone from my past reached out to me recently through a social media message. It caught me off guard, not because of the message itself, but because of how familiar it felt. The message had the same tone, patterns, and emotional bait.
When I read the message, for a brief moment, I felt that familiar feeling, the one that used to whisper, ‘maybe you’re overreacting.’ But then I remembered how much peace I’ve gained by not reopening old wounds.
That voice belonged to an old version of me. The version who led with grace to a fault. The version who believed that because no one is perfect, I should be understanding, forgiving, and patient even when it cost me my peace.
That version of me tolerated a lot of toxic behavior under the guise of love, loyalty, and history. I would latch onto good memories, defending or excusing people who repeatedly disrespected my feelings, boundaries, or truth. I mistook emotional endurance for strength.
Over time, I realized that this pattern wasn’t just hurting me, it was shaping how others viewed and treated me. It chipped away at my self-worth, and sometimes even created friction with people who genuinely cared about me but couldn’t understand why I kept giving chances to those who didn’t deserve them.
When toxic recognizes toxic
One of the most eye-opening lessons came when I noticed a strange pattern:
Some of the very people who watched me be overly forgiving and told me I deserved better were doing the same things to me in their own ways.
They could see and call out bad behavior in others, but not in themselves. They were protective of me when someone else hurt me, yet blind to how they mirrored that same disregard in different forms.
Over the past few years, those relationships have slowly fallen away. Some through confrontation, others through quiet distance. It wasn’t revenge or resentment; it was clarity. The more I healed, the more misaligned dynamics revealed themselves.
Now, my circle is smaller, but full of relationships that lead with genuine love, honesty, and respect. There’s no guessing, no emotional gymnastics, no constant explaining of my worth. Just ease. And that lightness is priceless.
Redefining grace and forgiveness
I grew up believing that to avoid being alone, I had to accept people as they were, no matter what that meant for me. That belief became my default response to conflict: forgive, forget, and move on. But moving on without accountability isn’t healing; it’s avoidance.
Today, I see grace differently. Grace is not allowing repeated harm. Forgiveness is not an invitation for re-entry. Extending grace doesn’t mean ignoring patterns. Forgiveness doesn’t mean access.
I can hold space for imperfection while maintaining a zero-tolerance policy for disrespect, disregard, and toxicity. Those two truths can coexist.
Protecting peace over history
When that person from my past reached out, still showing the same behaviors that once caused me harm, my hesitation was short lived. I ultimately tapped block.
Not out of anger. Not out of revenge. But out of peace I deserve. I knew there was no point in re-opening the door for a relationship that had caused so much harm and would likely go down the same path given the tone of the message.
Protecting my energy is an act of self-respect. I don’t need to reopen wounds to prove I’ve healed. Silence can be a boundary, not bitterness. Distance can be peace, not punishment.
I no longer mistake tolerance for love, and I no longer confuse silence with peace. My zero-tolerance policy isn’t about pushing people away it’s about making space for the ones who truly deserve to stay.
Reflection prompts
If this resonates with you, take a few moments to journal:
What boundaries have I historically struggled to uphold, and why?
How have I confused grace with self-abandonment?
What patterns in others have I ignored because of history or guilt?
What does “zero tolerance” look like in my relationships today?
How can I tell when a relationship feels light instead of heavy?
