Like many others, I’ve spent recent years working on my boundaries, or rather my perceived lack of them. To put it simply, I’m a chronic people pleaser with an overwhelming fear of abandonment and low self-worth — yes, I’m a hit at parties, of course. I’ve spent years going above and beyond to try and keep people in my life, as well as resorting to self-sabotage, manipulation, and changing my identity.

I thought I needed boundaries to fix this. I thought the answer lay in not contorting myself to fit other people’s view of me, not dropping everything at a moment’s notice, and generally just putting myself first. I believed it would not only make me happier, but ultimately make me a better, more authentic friend.

I’m not the only one who felt this way, as a simple Google search will highlight all the tips and tricks for setting boundaries, why we need them, how to handle people who push your boundaries, and so much more. Boundaries, boundaries, boundaries, it’s like the elephant in the room we can’t stop talking and thinking about.

I was led to believe that boundaries were a good thing, and that anyone who didn’t like them had been profiting off your lack of them. This isn’t completely untrue, but it’s also not the whole story. Because I spent the first half of 2024 caring for my terminally ill stepfather, and the second half grieving him and supporting my newly widowed mother. Along the way, I learned about the community we had lost to uphold those boundaries, and why I’m not so sure that I want them anymore.

A community around illness

My stepfather was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumour in December 2023. The results of his biopsy in early January highlighted that it was glioblastoma, the most aggressive form of brain cancer. He began a strong course of chemotherapy at home, and we watched as his condition progressively worsened.

Our entire family banded together to help, but this was a long and tricky road. We were simply put, not enough, nothing would be. There were times when it was my mother and I caring for him, with his two beloved daughters coming over as much as possible to brighten his days.

This is when I first glimpsed that elusive thing called a community.

My mother and stepfather lived in the suburbs of a well-sized town, and they had grown close with their neighbours, to the extent that they would help organise street parties. These neighbours had morphed into close friends, and from there, into a community.

The community, their friends, stepped up without even being asked. They’d regularly come to walk the dog, a seemingly small task that relieved us of a burden and the guilt of those brown eyes watching us woefully. One would bring over homemade soup each week, as we’d mentioned that my stepfather now struggled with swallowing, and so it was waiting on our doorstep each Thursday. If both my mother and I had to be out, a neighbour was happy to come over and keep my stepfather company.

Once, when I was helping my stepfather into his chair after going to the bathroom, we fell down, and a quick call had a neighbour rushing over to help us. I had no way of getting a grown man off the floor by myself, and I felt such hopelessness and weakness staring at his desolate expression. The neighbour let himself in with a key, worked with me to get him comfortable again, and then introduced himself, as we had never personally met before.

In June, we lost my stepfather, and the community remained strong around us. When I had to leave my mother alone, I was promised by her friends and neighbours that they would keep an eye on her, and that I was right to go. They continued to help with the dog, bring over treats, and call in just for a cup of coffee. When we arranged for my mother to visit my sister, they immediately offered to drive her to the airport. They spent hours sorting out the overgrown garden and stepping in for any tasks my stepfather used to do. They helped us with our Christmas tree, fixed a damaged window pane, and so much more.

The community held strong, and I realised how much I stood to lose without one.

Younger generations lack this community

I have amazing friends in my life, don’t get me wrong. I am privileged to call such strong and interesting people my friends, and they were there for me throughout this time. I am not trying to implicate them as anything less than a solid support system.

Rather, I’m trying to share an observation about Millennials and especially Gen Z, as someone on the cusp of both these generations. While we have close friendships, besties, and more, we don’t quite have that community. We wouldn’t drive each other to the airport; we’d expect someone to take public transport or an Uber. Why give up more time than it would take them? We just don’t see the sentimental touch of dropping someone off or picking them up at the airport.

We look at the cost of our time, we look at practicality over sentimentality, but God, doesn’t it feel great to walk out of the airport and see someone waiting for you there? Wouldn’t it be nice to know that you don’t have to arrange a petsitter, to know that a neighbour could come over just to water your plants, and not see it as an intrusion? We have apps for everything that we once relied on neighbours for. We have friendships, but they exist in isolation, and they refrain from being the community we so sorely need, without even realising we do.

We’ll happily use WhatsApp or even Facetime, but do we ever just drop by for coffee? Do we embody that spontaneity that a community might? Don’t get me wrong, the idea of someone arriving at home without notice, when I might be bingeing Netflix with a face mask is a horrific thought. But should it be?

A large part of this is that we tend to be so spread out at these ages, so perhaps it isn’t a matter of generations, but ages. Perhaps we’ll grow to these communities when we’ve ripened with maturity. But I’m not so certain, as I’m worried that the selflessness and collectivistic energy of a community is something that we lack now, that we sacrificed in order to put ourselves first. But if I, if we, continue to put ourselves ahead, we might look around at some point, and realise that we’re alone out there.