Boundaries: The New Fix-All in Relationships

The shaky science behind boundaries and why we need a more context-sensitive approach in relationships

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This post would probably get more attention if it were titled something like “10 Ways to Set Better Boundaries with Your Partner” or “Claim Happiness Through Boundaries.” But that’s not what this post is about.

We’re living in the age of invisible fences. Personal boundaries are everywhere. The other day I came across an article promising that boundaries could save your marriage. A bold claim, though not surprising. Self-help books, podcasts, and viral advice threads have turned boundaries into the go-to remedy for nearly every modern relationship problem.

Toxic boss? Set a boundary. Overbearing parent? Set one too. Exhausted from socialising? Set a few more. We’re told that psychological maturity means saying 'no' with grace and precision, and that doing so will supposedly fix everything: your partner will do more chores, your friends will stop draining you, your mom will finally text less.

To be clear, I’m not against boundaries. In fact, I like them. I rely on them. They help keep ourselves steady when life gets chaotic. They protect us from exploitation, preserve our energy, and offer structure in an unpredictable world. recognition and articulation of boundaries can be a valuable intervention. And in a world where people don’t always act in good faith, drawing a line can feel like reclaiming oxygen in a suffocating room. It’s a way of saying: This is mine. That’s yours. Stay in your lane.

But it’s hard to ignore the cultural obsession with boundaries. Like any trendy concept, boundaries risk becoming one-size-fits-all fix—prescribed too broadly, enforced rigidly, and sometimes used as a blunt instrument for emotional distance or control, all dressed up in the language of self-care and empowerment.

We’ve come to believe that healthy relationships are built on clear expectations, firm lines, and conversations about what’s acceptable and what’s not. That everyone should know exactly where they end and the other begins. That a little too much dependency — and certainly any sign of codependency — is something to be vigilantly avoided. But treating this as a universal formula for every relationship is a flawed approach.

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Despite their popularity, the science behind boundaries is surprisingly thin. Definitions vary, empirical evidence is scattered, and what research exists often lacks nuance across different relationship types and cultural contexts. In romantic relationships especially, where boundary-talk is most dominant, there’s little empirical evidence to suggest that boundaries are the backbone of healthy, lasting connection.

The modern conversation about boundaries traces back to Murray Bowen, who developed Family Systems Theory, and Salvador Minuchin, founder of Structural Family Therapy. In Bowen’s theory, families operate as interconnected systems, where each person’s behaviour affects the entire group, held together by boundaries that regulate closeness and separation. Bowen emphasised differentiation — the capacity to separate your own thoughts and feelings from those of your family members. Healthy boundaries, in this view, allow people to stay emotionally connected while maintaining a firm sense of self.

Minuchin’s work further clarified this by identifying three types of boundaries: clear, rigid (disengaged), and diffuse (enmeshed). Rigid boundaries create emotional distance. Diffuse boundaries lead to over-involvement and confusion. Clear boundaries strike a balance, allowing autonomy while preserving connection.

This framework makes sense in family roles. Parents should maintain some distance from their children on certain matters (finances, intimate relationships) while still offering love and care. Children need enough autonomy to develop independence, but not so much that they’re left to make adult decisions or shoulder responsibilities they’re not equipped to handle.

But when extended to other relationships, particularly as children become adults or in romantic partnerships without clear hierarchies, these distinctions become more complicated. Boundaries aren’t fixed. Relational dynamics are fluid, shaped by shifting roles, power balances, and cultural expectations.

In practice, life is far messier than the frameworks suggest. People aren’t houses with tidy rooms and lockable doors. We’re more like open spaces, shaped by contradiction, mutual influence, and blurred lines. The promise of clean emotional lines is appealing, but rare. In most relationships, boundaries ebb and flow, shifting in response to circumstance, closeness, and need.

Another complication is that the modern Western ideal of boundaries prioritises autonomy, individualism, and emotional self-sufficiency. In this model, dependence is often framed as dysfunction. But in some non-Western cultures, what might be labelled as “weak boundaries” in a Western context can, in fact, be expressions of loyalty, duty, and belonging.

For example, many Middle Eastern, East Asian, and Mediterranean families don’t see loose familial boundaries as pathological. Such blurred boundaries are not only expected but often cherished. Emotional closeness, financial interdependence, and decision-making by committee are seen as signs of care, not immaturity. In these contexts, the distancing advice popular in Western world can land not as healthy self-differentiation, but as rejection.

Cross-cultural research on enmeshment in families supports this." Enmeshed families refer to families with blurred boundaries where emotions, needs, and identities are deeply intertwined, sometimes to the point where individuality is discouraged, or even perceived as a threat. A UK-Italy study found that enmeshment predicted poorer wellbeing in the UK, but not in Italy. Another study comparing Korean and American families found no negative effects of enmeshment in Asian heritage families; in some cases, it was actually protective.

In tightly knit relational cultures, telling someone to 'just set a boundary' risks severing a tie that holds profound cultural and emotional significance. It might resolve surface tension, only to replace it with subtler, longer-lasting wounds: guilt, shame, alienation.

That’s not to say boundaries don’t matter in such settings. They do. Even in highly interdependent families, unclear or unstable boundaries can cause role confusion, emotional strain, and lasting psychological distress. In fact, a three-year longitudinal study found that children in families with chronically unstable boundaries experienced higher levels of anxiety and depression over time.

The problem isn’t boundaries themselves, it’s the indiscriminate application of them. It’s assuming what works in one relationship, family, or culture will work the same everywhere.

Even within Western contexts, boundary scripts can be dangerously inadequate. In abusive or controlling relationships, a sudden, rigid boundary can escalate danger. Well-meaning advice to “set firmer boundaries” without understanding someone’s safety, resources, or history risks exposing them to further harm. Boundaries can be life-saving, but they aren’t without risks: escalation, disconnection, unintended consequences.

And it’s not just cultural context that shapes how boundaries function — generational values do, too. A recent YouGov survey found that younger Americans are more likely to view boundaries as tools for influencing others’ behaviour, while older adults tend to see them as personal limits. Among adults under 30, 42% said it’s acceptable to ask a partner to change, compared to 32% who believed a boundary is something you set only for yourself. In contrast, Americans 65 and older were far less likely to endorse this view, with just 25% agreeing it’s acceptable to ask a partner to change, and 53% believing boundaries are personal guidelines.

The obsession with boundaries risks reducing people to problems to be managed, and relationships to transactions. We measure emotional exchanges like spreadsheets, tracking inputs and costs. At its most extreme, boundary rhetoric becomes a tool for building walls instead of bridges. And when those walls inevitably crumble, we blame ourselves for not setting them well enough, while friends chime in with, “I told you! You need better boundaries.”

But humans aren’t built for walls. We’re wired for connection, and that connection is messy. It requires risk, flexibility, and sometimes stepping into the unknown. Boundaries, when used well, can support intimacy. When used poorly, they shield us from it. The real danger is confusing control with clarity, and self-protection with growth.

Sometimes, boundaries get used as emotional shortcuts. They shut down conversations, justify avoidance, or cover up what actually needs attention. Instead of asking, What’s hurting here?, we ask, How do I make it stop? We trade curiosity for control, and vulnerability for tidiness.

In therapy, I often meet clients convinced that learning to “set better boundaries” will fix their marriage, improve their family life, or bring them peace. And yes, boundaries are sometimes part of the work, especially for those practitioners trained in Family Systems thinking. But more often, what lies underneath what seems to be “a boundary problem” is something deeper: a longing for agency, fear of taking up space, or difficulty asking for what they need. Boundaries become stand-ins for more tender, complicated emotional labour.

The cultural conversation hasn’t helped. Boundaries get misrepresented as moral obligations, personality tests, or magic solutions for relational difficulty. But there’s no rule book about what makes a boundary “healthy.” What counts as protective in one situation might be alienating in another. A boundary that fosters safety for one person can feel like abandonment to someone else.

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It’s not a crime to love boundaries. Plenty of relationships could use a little more openness about what feels safe and what doesn’t, a clearer sense of where one person ends and the other begins, a few declines. But maybe it’s worth questioning how we’re using them.

Boundaries aren’t a shortcut to a well-lived life. And sometimes, they backfire—when we hope they’ll save us from the uncomfortable, ongoing work of being human. When we believe they’ll fix what’s broken in our relationships. When we treat them like universal truths instead of context-dependent choices. When they turn into armour instead of support. Or when we set them without really knowing what we’re trying to protect.

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