Dear Prospective Student,

I signed up for Randi's program thinking I'd learn some polite ways to decline committee invitations. You know - professional scripts for 'thanks but no thanks.' I was drowning in obligations, working 70-hour weeks, my teenager barely spoke to me, and I'd been stress eating at my desk. But I told myself that's just what dedicated nonprofit leaders do.

The first week, Randi asked us to describe our boundaries. I actually wrote 'professional but warm' - like I was describing my email signature. Then she had us do this exercise about our values, and when she asked how our boundaries reflected those values, I just... froze. I'd written that my top value was family, but I was missing dinner with them five nights a week. The cognitive dissonance made me nauseous.

But here's what really got me, it wasn't about the boundaries at all, not really. At least not until I understood what Randi means by boundaries.

I remember someone in our group describing themselves as a 'shell of a person' - just this hollow thing that existed to meet everyone else's needs. I started crying because that's exactly what I'd become. I couldn't even tell you what I wanted for lunch without checking if it would inconvenience someone. My husband would ask what movie I wanted to watch, and I'd literally panic trying to guess what he wanted me to say.

The thing is, I thought being this way made me lovable. Good. Worthy of connection.

But my relationships were dying. My husband had stopped asking my opinion on anything important because he knew I'd just mirror back what I thought he wanted. My daughter had started going to her friends' moms for advice because, as she told me later, 'You always seemed too tired to really see me.' Even my supposed best friend admitted she felt like she didn't actually know me, just this pleasant, helpful surface with nothing underneath.

Week three, something shifted. I was sitting in yet another meeting that could have been an email, and instead of mentally drafting my grocery list while nodding along, I heard myself say, 'I need to protect my deep work time. Could you send me the key points, and I'll respond by Thursday?'

My heart was pounding. But then my colleague said, 'That's... actually really smart. And honestly? Thank you.'

That comment haunted me. People couldn't connect with me because there was no 'me' to connect with - just this shapeshifting people-pleaser who disappeared into whatever others needed.

The real awakening came when my mom called with her usual guilt trip about not visiting enough. Normally, I'd either cave and drive three hours each way on my only free Saturday, or I'd make excuses and feel terrible for days. This time, I said, 'Mom, I love you. I can visit next month, and we can have quality time together when I'm not exhausted.'

She was quiet. Then: 'You sound different. Like you're actually there. I've missed you.'

We ended up having the first real conversation we'd had in years. Turns out she'd been feeling lonely too, talking to this cheerful robot version of me who never shared anything real, never had opinions, never pushed back. She didn't want a compliance machine for a daughter. She wanted ME.

Six months later:

• I'm home for dinner four nights a week

• My teenager actually talks to me because there's someone TO talk to now

• My husband said it's like being married to a real person instead of a 'Stepford wife who runs a nonprofit'

• My friendships are deeper because I show up as myself, not as whoever I think they need

• I have energy I didn't know was possible - turns out being yourself takes less effort than constantly shapeshifting

But the biggest change? My relationships are REAL now.

I thought having no boundaries, no needs, no actual self made me easier to love. That it would keep me connected to community. But you can't have a relationship with a ghost. You can't connect with someone who isn't there. My family had been living with this helpful stranger who wore my face but never let them see inside.

My best friend said it perfectly: 'I used to feel guilty after seeing you because you'd do everything for me but never let me reciprocate. Now I feel like we actually have a friendship instead of me having a very nice butler.'

I thought I was signing up to learn to say no better. What I actually learned was how to exist. To be a person instead of a reaction. To have shape and substance that people could actually connect with.

The boundaries? They weren't walls keeping people out. They were the edges that finally gave me form - something solid enough for others to actually embrace. You can't hug a fog. You can't have a relationship with someone who shapeshifts into whatever they think you need.

My husband jokes that I went in for boundary training and came out as feeling worthy of being me. But that's exactly what happened. I stopped being a shell programmed to please and became someone worth knowing.

If you're reading this thinking you're being loving by having no boundaries - you're not. You're depriving the people you love of YOU. They don't need another service provider. They need the real, messy, opinionated, sometimes-says-no person you're hiding under all that compliance.

That's not selfish. That's the most generous thing you can give them - an actual person to love.