Shrimp Curry + the Boundary That Saved Me

A tale of soup, early motherhood, and the boundaries that keep love intact:

It was the best seafood curry I’d ever had.

Not fancy, not fussy — just perfectly spiced, warm, and comforting. And at the time, I needed to eat it alone, in the dark of my bedroom, at 6 PM, during what had become the necessary bedtime for myself and our new baby.

I sat there half-naked in bed, balancing the bowl carefully on My Best Friend, grateful for every bite. She was in the kitchen with the rest of the family, probably wondering why I wouldn’t join them. She was hurt that I didn’t. I wish she had known I wasn’t rejecting her or the meal — I was just trying to survive, and this was the only way I could.

When my daughter was first born, my partner’s mother wanted to visit for long stretches to help. And while I believe her heart was in the right place, I was navigating new motherhood in constant pain, barely sleeping, and stretched thin in ways I didn’t yet have words for.

Even in the best circumstances, we weren’t especially close, and in those early weeks and months, I didn’t have the bandwidth to host family for long stays. I needed quiet. I needed privacy. I needed to be able to nurse, cry, or just sit in silence without feeling like I was “on” for someone else.

At the time, I couldn’t articulate that what I needed wasn’t distance from her — it was space for myself. I didn’t want her to see the version of me that was running on fumes and trying to mask it. I wanted to give her the best version of me I could manage, and shorter visits made that possible.

Still, holding that boundary created tension. I worried it looked like rejection. I worried I was being unfair. But deep down, I knew it was my way of loving her and myself at the same time.

What I’ve learned since is that boundaries are not about shutting people out — they’re about creating the conditions where love can actually grow. They can be uncomfortable in the moment, but they protect relationships from the slow erosion of resentment.

If I could tell my early-motherhood self anything, it would be this: You are allowed to need space. 

You are allowed to protect your energy. 

You are allowed to believe that loving yourself is not in competition with loving someone else.

Boundaries aren’t walls; they are pathways that allow us to keep showing up with care. And sometimes, the most loving thing you can do is protect the small, tender version of yourself until she’s ready to open the door.

“Every time you hold a boundary, you teach the world how to love you better — and you remind yourself that you’re worth protecting.”