๐—ช๐—ต๐—ฒ๐—ป ๐—•๐—ผ๐˜‚๐—ป๐—ฑ๐—ฎ๐—ฟ๐—ถ๐—ฒ๐˜€ ๐—”๐—ฟ๐—ฒ ๐—ฅ๐—ฒ๐˜€๐—ฝ๐—ฒ๐—ฐ๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฑ ๐—ณ๐—ผ๐—ฟ ๐—ฆ๐—ผ๐—บ๐—ฒ, ๐—•๐˜‚๐˜ ๐—ก๐—ผ๐˜ ๐—ณ๐—ผ๐—ฟ ๐—ข๐˜๐—ต๐—ฒ๐—ฟ๐˜€

In a leadership development cohort I was facilitating, I noticed a pattern that revealed deep-seated gendered biases around boundary-setting. The group, composed of 15 individuals of diverse backgrounds, prided itself on fostering an inclusive, reflective space where members could challenge their unconscious biases and power dynamics. But even in these spaces, systemic patterns show up.

During a discussion on workload distribution, Arjun voiced that he needed clearer agreements on task ownership. He shared that the groupโ€™s tendency to assume availability and expect people to “step up” led to burnout and resentment. His statement was met with nods of agreement. One member, Sam, even reinforced Arjunโ€™s need for clearer boundaries, saying, “Yes, we should respect when people say no and create structures that prevent overwork.” The group immediately began brainstorming ways to honor individual capacity and avoid implicit expectations.

A few weeks later, when conflict erupted in a meeting, Priya shared that she was feeling depleted from holding space for others, and being the one to check in when tensions arose. She set a boundary: “I canโ€™t keep holding this emotional weight for the group. I need us to redistribute this responsibility.”

But unlike with Arjun, the response wasnโ€™t immediate support. Some members responded with concern about whether she was still committed to the groupโ€™s values. Others subtly questioned her tone: “I just worry that shutting down conversations isnโ€™t the solution.” Another person suggested that perhaps she was “too in her head about it,” implying that her experience might be subjective rather than structural. No one openly defended her boundary the way they had for Arjun. Instead, the conversation shifted toward whether Priya was โ€˜being defensiveโ€™ or โ€˜less open to dialogueโ€™.

๐—œ๐—ป๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฟ๐—ฟ๐˜‚๐—ฝ๐˜๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ด ๐˜๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—ฃ๐—ฎ๐˜๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฟ๐—ป
I paused the group and asked:
– What made Arjunโ€™s boundary easier to accept than Priyaโ€™s?
– Who in the group gets to be perceived as “reasonable” or “fair”?
– How might our responses be shaped by unconscious gendered expectations?

At first, there was silence. Then, people started to acknowledge the discomfort. Some expressed guilt, others admitted they hadnโ€™t noticed how gendered norms shape group dynamics.

I reminded them, โ€œThis isnโ€™t about blameโ€”itโ€™s about recognizing the ways we reproduce domination culture even within spaces committed to liberation. If we only protect certain peopleโ€™s boundaries, we reinforce the same hierarchies we are trying to dismantle.โ€

๐—ฅ๐—ฒ๐—ณ๐—น๐—ฒ๐—ฐ๐˜๐—ถ๐—ผ๐—ป
Even in progressive spaces, systemic inequities show up. The question is: Do we have the courage to notice them?
– Who in your groups gets their boundaries protected?
– Who has to justify them?
– How do we create cultures where everyone’s boundaries are honored without scrutiny?

-Written By Anisha Pandya