The Boundary I Coach But Don’t Keep

I told a client last week to stop answering messages after 8pm.

She laughed. Said she’d try. We spent a good ten minutes on what it would actually cost her — the itch of a notification left sitting there, the fear that someone would quietly decide she wasn’t committed enough.

Then I closed my laptop, picked up my phone, and answered messages until eleven.

I want to be honest about that, because I think the gap between what I coach and what I do is where most of the useful truth lives.

Here’s what I’ve learned from being on both sides of it: a boundary is almost never a scheduling problem. We treat it like one. We buy the planner. We block the calendar. We download the app that greys out the screen at ten, and then we override it, because the app was never the thing standing in our way.

The thing standing in our way is that a boundary requires you to let someone be disappointed in you.

That’s it. That’s the whole cost. Not the hour you reclaim — the reputation you risk. The client who might think you’re less available than the coach down the road. The friend who waits a day for a reply. The version of yourself who has always been the one who answers, and who isn’t sure she’s still valuable if she stops.

My body figured this out before I did.

It started small. A jaw I was clenching in my sleep. A shoulder that stopped rotating properly. A twitch under my left eye that showed up during a busy season and then simply moved in, like it had signed a lease. I ignored all of it, because none of it was dramatic enough to count as a reason to stop.

The body doesn’t argue with you. It just keeps sending the bill, and it adds interest.

So I’ve been practising. Badly, and in small ways, because I don’t trust the version of this that arrives as a grand announcement.

My phone charges in the kitchen now. Not every night. Most nights. One evening a week belongs to my son, and nobody has to be told why I’m not available, because I’ve stopped explaining myself as a form of apology. And I’ve been saying “I’ll get back to you tomorrow” without softening it into a paragraph.

Some people have been mildly disappointed. Nobody has left. The world I was protecting by being endlessly reachable turned out to be less fragile than I thought.

I’m not writing this from the far side of it. I’m writing it from the middle, where it still feels wrong at least twice a week.

But I’ve stopped thinking of the boundary as a rule I keep. It’s a promise I keep re-making, most mornings, usually after I’ve already broken it.

What is your body trying to send you the bill for?

The Morning I Stopped Rushing

There’s a version of me that used to wake up already behind.

Before my feet hit the floor, my brain was already running the list. Emails to send, calls to prep for, the thing I forgot to do yesterday that would catch up with me today. I was efficient. Productive. Perpetually five minutes ahead of something falling apart.

I didn’t realize how exhausting that was until I stopped doing it.

It wasn’t a dramatic decision. There was no retreat, no burnout breakdown (well — not that morning, at least). I just woke up one day and decided not to rush. I made my protein shake. Yes, this is my peak Pilates-Tita era. I sat with it. I watched the light change in the room. I did nothing productive for twenty minutes, and the world did not end.

Here’s what I’ve noticed since I started doing this more: my mornings now feel like they belong to me. Not to my inbox. Not to my to-do list. Not to whatever crisis is waiting on the other side of my phone screen.

We talk a lot about morning routines — the 5 AM club, the journaling, the cold showers. I’m not here to sell you a routine. I’m here to tell you that the most radical thing I’ve done recently is simply… slow down. Not because I have less to do (I don’t). But because I finally accepted that arriving everywhere breathless wasn’t a badge of honor. It was just a habit. A very expensive one.

I’m a solo parent. I work full-time. I run a coaching practice on the side. There is always something that needs doing, and there will always be something that needs doing. That used to feel like a reason to rush forever.

Now it feels like a reason to protect the quiet while I can.

My son knows I work hard. He knows this is how we make things work. He’s never once asked me to stop — not directly. But I’d be lying if I said I never wonder what he holds quietly, the things kids don’t say out loud but carry anyway. The unspoken tally of days spent not seeing each other and just not being there.

I don’t have a clean answer for that. What I do have is this: I’m learning to be more present in the pockets of time we do have. Not perfect — present. And it starts in the morning. With coffee and crepe - our thing. With slow.

You don’t have to earn the right to not rush. You just have to decide.

Overcoming Overwhelm

Over the past few weeks, I had to decompress. I worried about many things like back-to-back rejections, the wave of candles or black background replacing profile pictures on social media, and friends and their family members hit by this virus. Then one Sunday, out of nowhere, well not exactly, given what I just stated, I had what I thought was a heart attack. 

I was diagnosed with clinical depression way back in 2007. I finally decided to seek professional help when I started sleeping in the middle of coaching conversations. I still remember catching myself mid-sentence sharing my home address with and seeing the shocked face of my now-kumare. We burst out laughing as she said, "Hoy! Matulog ka kaya?" (Hey! Get some sleep!). It was so embarrassing. 

It gets easier over time. Someone once told me, "You have depression. It doesn't have you.". I can manage it better now. I know my triggers, built a solid support system, and embraced minimalism to reduce the many stimuli that overwhelm me. The pandemic created a whole new world. I thought I was ready for chaos after everything I've gone through in life, but I guess no one's an expert on the unknown. What I thought was a heart attack was my first ever panic attack. 

I'm sure we are all going through some level of anxiety or worries these days. I did a few things to pull myself out of the rut. I guess they're nothing unheard of, but I hope it helps someone, anyone, who might come across these ramblings of mine.

To be Perfectly Whelmed:

1. I told a few people I was not feeling well.

2. I phoned a friend who made sure I got squeezed into my doctor's busy day.

3. I sang my heart out. Music is uplifting. I am grateful that none of my neighbors complained about the noise.

4. I followed a strictly no-multitasking policy. I did watch Netflix while eating. I did not listen to my usual playlist or podcast while doing chores.

5. I even came to the point where I started closing my eyes while doing the dishes. It was a mind-blowing discovery! I realized I never really listened to the tap running and felt the texture of my dishcloth. I noticed the delicate scent of my dishwashing liquid. Guess what? When I opened my eyes, I still did a good job! All sparkly clean!

In short, I had to do two things. First, I had to admit that I needed support (the first three things on the list above). Second, I had to be fully immersed in each moment (the last two things on the list). 

Let's help one another! What are the small things you do or stop doing to keep your head clear these days?

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About Jeng

Jeng Macalagay is a Career Coach who has 18 years of work experience in various industries. Over 10 years of which were in Human Resources where she led the people strategies on Talent Management, Performance Management, and Leadership Development.

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