The Mother Wound, Boundaries, and the Erosion of Self
Understanding how boundary violations shape the identity, guilt, and adult relationship patterns of daughters
Bless The Daughters: An Examination into the Mother Wound, Inherited Pain and the Legacies that Shape our Lives
Chapter Fifteen: Lack of Boundaries ~ Eroding the Sense of Self
The September equinox brings winds that blow for days and I find myself restless—restless for winter to be over, restless to feel something other than this perpetual winter that does not leave my body. It is as though I am my own cabin fever: tired of the four walls of my grief yet unable to find a way to leave. Knowing I cannot leave until this work is done—that I cannot sidestep around this pilgrimage, only journey through it.
In my last chapter on codependency, I touched on boundaries—a subject I have continued to reflect upon, particularly in the context of my relationship with my mother, but also my relationship with myself. One thing I recall from my childhood is how my mother often felt victimised—wronged, hurt, or abused by others. Looking back now, I am able to see with greater clarity that many of these incidents stemmed from a lack of boundaries in her own life: an inability to assert her needs, to recognise red flags, or to identify predatory behaviour in others—any of which might have offered greater self-protection.
The result of this, however, was that not only was my mother unable to protect herself from harm, but her lack of boundaries also failed to protect me—from years of physical abuse, sexual abuse, and rape at the hands of her various male partners; instilling in me the belief that my needs didn't matter, and that advocating for my own safety was both selfish and futile.
When I was only thirteen-years-old, a seventeen-year-old boy began to show interest in me. At first, it was at school and after-school sport, but soon he started coming to my house, uninvited. I began to feel uncomfortable with his attention. It felt unsafe; predatory—though I did not have the words for this at thirteen. What I felt was a churning in my stomach when he was near; warning signals I had not yet learned were my body's way of communicating danger to me.
But what I also hadn't learned, was boundaries. After years of sexual abuse, I had come to believe my body was not my own—that it was not sovereign; that I did not have autonomy over it but that it existed for the gratification of others. I had not learned to use my voice or words, but believed my no carried no weight or power. That the sooner I allowed the abuse to happen, the sooner it would be over.
The boy came to my house late one winter evening. I did not want him there; what I wanted was for my mother to ask him to leave. Instead, she said goodnight and excused herself, leaving her thirteen-year-old daughter alone with an older boy in an unsafe situation. Though I could not understand it at the time, it makes sense to me now: any healthy parent would have either asked him to leave, or stayed—would have stood guard for their daughter who was far too young to be left so vulnerable. But my mother had no boundaries in her own life. She didn't know how to keep herself safe, so it comes as no surprise she didn't know how to keep me safe, either.
When the boy placed his body over mine and undid the button of my jeans, my body did what it had always done to survive: dissociate. I did not consent yet I also did not say no—my voice buried far beneath the years of powerlessness and helplessness I had already endured. I do not remember the exact details of what happened next, only that when it was over and he left, I wept under my covers, begging God to forgive the contemptible girl I believed myself to be.
When the boy returned the following night, I somehow—through trembling body and shaking voice—found the courage to ask him to leave and not come back. I think now of that thirteen-year-old girl, in that moment, and I am so proud of her—of the fearlessness she found to protect herself when no one else would, or did. I see now that even then she carried in her belly a fire; an inner strength; an inherent knowledge that she was worth fighting for—that this strength has carried her through more than she could have ever imagined.
The boy left that night, and I never saw him again.
In her article on boundary development, Rekha Shrivastava explains:
'One thing we need to know about boundaries is that no one is born with these boundaries. They are developed and taught to us by our parents. Unfortunately, many of us emerged into adulthood with damaged, bruised, and non-existent boundaries. Some of us have no sense of boundaries, others have very rigid boundaries, and some of have holes in the boundaries. Poor or good boundaries depend on the kind of circumstances we grow up with. When parents are not able to model healthy boundaries to their children, when their rights are violated, and when they are forced into inappropriate roles with those around them, we tend to have poor boundaries. If children are emotionally neglected or physically neglected or abandoned, they may have non-existent boundaries. If parents fail to nurture them and do not set appropriate limits and discipline, they form weak boundaries too. Due to having a void, they have difficulty forming a sense of self.'
For much of my adult life, I carried the belief that my needs, and my safety, didn't matter. I became a chronic people-pleaser, gripped by guilt any time I said no, resulting in a loss of self, emotional burnout, resentment, anxiety, hypervigilance, perfectionism, and eventually illness that would take a decade to recover from.
I learned to abandon myself in relationships in order to preserve connection. I lived with low self-worth and persistent imposter syndrome, feeling fundamentally unlovable unless I was over-functioning. I believed love had to be earned. I often sabotaged intimacy or feared it entirely, convinced that love could only exist through the sacrifice of self.
I also struggled to trust my needs, or believe I had a right to assert them. I was afraid to advocate for myself, believing it would result in conflict, rejection or abandonment.
It would take years—years of toxic relationships and repeated violations—before I learned that no is a complete sentence. Years before I stopped letting others take advantage of me. Years before I began the slow, painful work of healing: therapy, reclamation, and the reparenting of the parts of me that had long believed my needs were a burden and my safety, irrelevant.
‘I was conditioned to believe any boundary I wanted was a betrayal of her, so I stayed silent. Cooperative.’ ~ Jennette McCurdy, I'm Glad My Mom Died
While the experiences I’ve shared illustrate the consequences of a mother who lacks boundaries—and how that deficiency is inherited by her daughter—there is another, equally damaging pattern: the mother who violates her daughter’s boundaries in ways that are often subtle incursions rather than overt acts of abuse, yet serve to injure in the same lasting ways.
In such dynamics, the daughter is not allowed the space to develop a strong sense of self, instead, she becomes an extension of a mother who relies heavily upon her for comfort, support, or to fill the voids left by her own childhood wounds.
One common form of boundary violation is enmeshment—a psychological term that describes a blurring of boundaries between people, where the mother treats the daughter as a confidante, therapist, or best friend. Enmeshment in mother-daughter relationships often manifests as a lack of clear emotional boundaries, where the daughter's identity becomes intertwined with the mother's emotional needs.
An article from Good Therapy lists the signs of enmeshment as:
Lack of appropriate privacy between parent and child
A child being “best friends” with a parent
A parent confiding secrets to a child
A parent telling one child that they are the favourite
One child receiving special privileges from a parent
A parent being overly involved in their child’s activities or achievements
The article notes that such enmeshment can interfere with the development of a stable sense of self. Rather than learning how to regulate their own emotions or build healthy relationships outside the family unit, the child often becomes overidentified with the parent’s emotional needs—prioritising them above their own and struggling to form independent, securely attached relationships in adulthood.
Further to this, children enmeshed with a parent often grow up feeling responsible for that parent’s emotional well-being. Instead of being cared for, they are cast in the role of caretaker. As they grow older, these children frequently carry guilt around creating space, asserting independence, or prioritising their own lives.
They may feel obligated to stay close to home—emotionally or physically—out of a sense of loyalty, fear, or unspoken duty, often placing family needs above their own desires. As Susan Forward writes in Toxic Parents, “When parents turn to their children to fulfil their emotional needs, the children grow up believing their own needs are less important—or worse, a burden.”
Another common form of boundary violation involves the use of guilt, obligation, and manipulation to control the daughter's choices, with phrases like, after all I've done for you, I've sacrificed everything for you, or if you really loved me, you would… becoming commonplace in the relationship.
In an article titled, How Do Narcissistic Mothers Use Guilt Tripping As A Manipulation Tactic?, Som Dutt says these tactics are used to systematically undermine a daughter's sense of self by framing her independence as betrayal. Through fear, obligation and guilt, boundary-setting is prevented and as a result, the daughter internalises a sense of indebtedness and learns to equate love with compliance. This pattern often carries into adulthood, leaving her struggling to assert boundaries out of fear of rejection or losing love altogether.
Other boundary violations can include, but are not limited to:
Invasion of privacy: Behaviours such as reading personal journals, monitoring digital communications, or sharing private information without consent impede the daughter’s ability to develop a clear and separate sense of self.
Undermining autonomy: When a mother dismisses or overrides her daughter’s choices, it stifles the daughter’s independence and critical thinking, conditioning her to doubt her own judgment.
Parentification: This occurs when the daughter is expected to assume adult responsibilities—emotionally or practically—that rightfully belong to the parent. This dynamic sidelines the daughter’s developmental needs in favour of caring for the mother, impairing her ability to recognise and assert personal boundaries in later relationships.
Criticism: Persistent negative judgments about the daughter’s choices, appearance, or personality create an environment of constant inadequacy. This teaches daughters that their worth is conditional, based on meeting impossible standards, often leading to difficulty asserting needs or saying no in adulthood.
Disrespecting time and energy: Ignoring or dismissing the daughter’s need for personal space, rest, and autonomy—through unannounced visits, demanding constant availability, or reacting negatively when the daughter prioritises her own wellbeing—undermines her ability to set boundaries around her time and energy. This contributes to chronic people-pleasing and burnout later in life.
These boundary violations are not always intentional or malicious. More often, they stem from the mother’s own unresolved trauma and inherited pain. A mother who was never properly mothered may struggle to love without control, allowing her unmet needs to become the emotional fabric of her relationship with her daughter.
As I look back now, I am able to see how much the early boundary violations in my life shaped who I became. Boundary violations—whether overt or subtle—leave lasting imprints on a daughter's sense of self and her ability to navigate the world in healthy ways. Research shows that things like enmeshment, guilt and parentification aren't just abstract psychological terms, but lived experiences that shape identity, self-worth, and relationship patterns.
Growing up without boundaries or a sense of self meant learning to silence my needs, live in guilt and people-pleasing, and fear asserting and protecting myself. But what I have come to understand is these struggles weren't failures, but the legacy of a mother who did not know how to advocate for herself—an inherited pain that has required re-learning, re-parenting, self-compassion and the deliberate reclaiming of my autonomy to rewrite the narrative passed down to me.
Healing from the Mother Wound—moving through this winter; this grief—requires recognising these boundary violations not as personal failings but reflections of unhealed generational trauma and finding, once more, the strength and courage to fight for this life that is mine; the life I deserve.
Next week: Chapter Sixteen: Hyper-Independence ~ I Don’t Need Anyone
If you’d like to continue reading and have each chapter land directly in your inbox while supporting my work at the same time, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. While all subscribers have full access to my content, for the price of one coffee each month you can sign up as a paid subscriber which will allow me the opportunity to spend more time writing and less time slogging away at the 9-5, which would bring untold amounts of joy to a writer who dreams of spending her days doing what she loves most 🧡
https://www.cognitivehealing.com/personal-growth/how-to-develop-healthy-boundaries-in-codependent-relationship/
https://www.goodtherapy.org/blog/psychpedia/enmeshment
Forward, S., & Buck, C. (1989). Toxic parents: Overcoming their hurtful legacy and reclaiming your life. New York, NY: Bantam.
https://embraceinnerchaos.com/how-narcissists-use-guilt-tripping-to-manipulate-and-control-you/
Brilliantly written and deeply insightful. It's ironic to me that our parents seemingly give up everything to raise us, and some of them bungle it so badly that, even if we chose not to have children, as I did, we still find ourselves parents…of our own broken children inside.
I appreciate your writing so much, thank you. I was raised to be the caregiver of my alcoholic, mentally ill mother. After my first marriage to an alcoholic that ended in him trying to kill me, my aunt took me to an Al-Anon meeting. I later got sober in AA myself. The process of working the 12Steps with compassionate sponsors helped me recover a sense of personal agency that I had never learned. I was in my early 30s when I realized that I traded "helping" for inclusion and affection. I've come a long way, but it's still amazing to me at how deep the roots of caregiving for approval and love go in me.