What my 4-year-old taught me about boundaries
(hint: it involves french fries)
Yesterday my daughter looked me dead in the eye and said, "No, Mom. These are MY fries."
We were out to dinner and I'd reached for a handful without asking. And she called me on it.
Four years old. Already clearer about her boundaries than I was at 45.
I used to think boundaries were walls you built when people hurt you or defenses you erected after trust was broken. You know, last resorts for the wounded.
But as I watched my daughter protect her fries with zero guilt, I realized I had it backwards.
She wasn't angry. She wasn't hurt. She wasn't trying to punish me.
She was just stating a fact: These french fries belong to me, and I get to decide if I share them.
No lengthy explanation. No apology. No softening the message with "I'm sorry, but..."
Just clarity.
She still offered me some. After establishing her boundary, she counted out exactly five french fries and placed them on my plate. "You can have these ones, Mom."
Boundaries get a bad rap as the things we create to keep people out. But they're so much more about creating the conditions where generosity feels like a choice, not an obligation.
My daughter doesn't share because she's afraid I won't love her if she doesn't. She shares because she wants to. Because her "no" is respected, her "yes" actually means something.
How many of us give from obligation rather than desire? (Over here, it's me!) How many times do we say yes just to avoid guilt, conflict, or disappointing someone?
I spent most of my adult life handing out my french fries to anyone who reached for them. Smiling while my reserves depleted and wondering why generosity left me feeling so empty.
Turns out, you can’t give from an empty fry basket.
But you can say, "These are mine. And here's what I'm willing to share."
Today, notice where you're handing out your french fries from fear instead of love.
Where you're saying yes but meaning no.
Your inner 4-year-old knows the difference.
Maybe it's time to let her speak.
