Boundaries, Mulled Wine, and a Merry Christmas to All

This year, let’s celebrate the holidays without guilt trips or emotional blackmail.

What better way to mark the festive season than by talking about… boundaries. Yes, boundaries—that supposedly sinister invention of modernity that, if you believe Mary Wakefield in the Spectator, is tearing families apart and replacing them with a generation of TikTok-obsessed narcissists.

Except, that’s not really what’s happening, is it?

Let’s discuss.

First thing’s first: boundaries are very patently not an attack on family. They’re not some woke conspiracy to dismantle the nuclear unit and replace it with chaos. Boundaries are a simple, effective way of ensuring that family connections don’t strangle the life out of those involved. They’re not walls but fences. They’re not rejection—they’re survival.

But, apparently, for people like Wakefield, boundaries are a threat to the sacred hierarchy of family. In her Christmas warning, the moment a child politely refuses to engage in toxic behaviour or decides not to spend Christmas being berated by relatives who “love them” but don’t “agree with their lifestyle,” they’ve declared all-out war on the institution of family. This isn’t only ridiculous, it’s a blatant denial of the realities many people—particularly LGBTQ+ people—face within their family structures.

For queer people, like yours truly, the idea of boundaries is not some abstract luxury—it’s an essential survival tool. For many of us, the family unit has never been the safe, unconditional haven that Wakefield seems to imagine it is. Instead, it’s often the place where we learned to flinch at the words, “We love you, but…”

Wakefield romanticises a version of family life where children ever so dutifully fall in line, respect their parents’ authority, and swallow their own needs for the sake of harmony. But that’s not family; that’s submission. For those of us who’ve had to fight for the right to simply exist within our families, boundaries are the difference between maintaining a relationship and walking away for good.

And here’s the thing: boundaries don’t destroy families—they save them. They allow relationships to grow, evolve, and—most importantly—survive. Setting a boundary isn’t a rejection, but rather an invitation to continue the relationship in a way that’s healthy and respectful for everyone involved.

Take the much-maligned phrase, “You don’t owe your family your time,” which Wakefield decries as some TikTok-fuelled moral decay. In reality, it’s a simple acknowledgment that relationships, even familial ones, should be based on mutual respect and care. If your family treats you with contempt or undermines your identity, you are most certainly not obligated to tolerate it simply because you share DNA. Boundaries don’t end relationships—they preserve them, but on terms that don’t require self-erasure.

Of course, none of this fits neatly into Wakefield’s narrative of modern individualism as the enemy of all that is good and holy. In her world, self-love and boundaries are signs of selfishness, not survival. She insists that families crumble when children put their own needs first, conveniently ignoring that many families crumble precisely because one party’s needs have been ignored for far too long.

And let’s be honest here, none of this is new. Families have been “crumbling” for decades, not because of “woke mind viruses” or TikTok influencers but because of economic instability, rising inequality, and a lack of societal support for the people holding these families together. If Wakefield wants to know who really abandoned the family unit, she should look at the political class she so loyally defends.

So, on this fine Christmas Day, let me offer you this:

Boundaries are not the enemy of family. They are its saving grace. If your family can’t handle you saying, “This is what I need to feel safe and respected,” then the problem isn’t with boundaries—it’s with the family dynamic, and probably a sign that not even boundaries are enough to mitigate the situation at hand.

For those of you spending the day with loved ones, I hope your boundaries are respected. If Uncle Graham launches into a tirade about the “woke mind virus,” tell him, politely, to fuck right off. If Aunt Susan asks why you’re still single, remind her that passive-aggressive matchmaking doesn’t count as a festive tradition. And if anyone tries to guilt you into compromising your mental health for the sake of family, remember that Christmas is meant to be a season of joy, not emotional blackmail.

So, on that note, a Merry Christmas to all—especially to those of us who’ve learned that self-respect doesn’t take a day off, not even for Chrimbo.

Now, where’s the mulled wine?