Guilt as the Guest List: When Boundaries Feel Like Letting People Down

It’s nearly January, and the inbox is full of quiet reintroductions. Clients looking to return after the holidays. Some with the soft hope of a reset. Some with the weight of what they chose, and what it cost.

“I said no this year.”
“I didn’t fly back.”
“I didn’t stay the whole time.”
“I didn’t drink.”
“I didn’t pretend it was fine.”

And underneath each of those choices is the same ache:
“I feel like I let someone down.”

It’s the kind of guilt that doesn’t shout. It just hums.
Low-grade. Persistent. The knowing that your decision was right for you and still hurt someone else. That you drew a line, and someone felt it as distance. That you honoured your needs, and someone interpreted it as rejection.

This is the guilt that follows boundaries. The kind that shows up not because you were cruel, but because you were clear. Not because you acted out, but because you opted out.

And it can feel unbearable.

Because if you’ve spent a lifetime making yourself available, accommodating, and agreeable, then pulling back, even slightly, can feel like violence. Not because it is. But because your nervous system has been trained to associate belonging with compliance.

So when you say “not this year”…
Or “not like that”…
Or “not anymore”…
It doesn’t always feel like empowerment. It can feel like abandonment. Of them. Of your role. Of the version of you that made everything okay.

And there’s no clean ending here. No tidy resolution. Because sometimes your body knows a choice is right before your heart can catch up. Sometimes you only feel the weight of your decision once the door has closed. And sometimes you don’t know if you’ll regret it until years later, or never.

This is where many of us are sitting going into January. Not with hangovers, but with hollow space. With the consequences of choosing differently. With the ache of not being who they wanted you to be and not yet knowing who you’re becoming.

So if you're feeling it; the guilt, the doubt, the tug to explain or undo what’s already done, just know this:

You’re not alone in the ache.
You’re not wrong for feeling it.
And you’re not broken because the choice still hurts.

You're just someone learning how to belong to yourself. And like most things worth keeping, it costs.