The Revolving Door: Hospitality, Boundaries, and Finding Balance

I was always a shy, quiet, and timid girl, growing up in a vibrant and busy household. Our home was never just ours; it was a gathering place. My grandmother, a wise elder with a huge personality, lived with us. She was the pillar of our family, the one people turned to for advice, guidance, and support. Our front door was always open, sometimes quite literally, as relatives and friends flowed in and out.

When home belongs to everyone, where do you go to find space?

From a young age, we were unconsciously enrolled in hosting. We prepared food, made endless cups of tea, and ensured the space was clean and welcoming. As children, we could run around and play freely, but we also had to be mindful when visitors arrived.

There were pros and cons to having a home that felt like a revolving door. On one hand, it fostered connection, generosity, and a strong sense of community. On the other, as children, we were never asked if this constant openness felt good, if we wanted it, or if we needed space. It was simply how things were.

A Memory That Stuck With Me

When I reflect on my childhood, one particular memory always surfaces.

Hiding in plain sight, craving a moment of home just for ourselves.

It was a summer’s day. For once, it was just us, the people who lived in the house, enjoying the garden. My older sister and I ran inside, laughing, when suddenly, the doorbell rang. Instead of answering, we sat under the letterbox, suppressing our giggles as my grandmother’s brother peered through, calling out to us.

We didn’t want to share our home that day. We wanted it to be ours, just for a little while.

The next day, my parents asked why we hadn’t told them someone was at the door. We never gave them an answer, but deep down, I knew. I just wanted space.

Becoming a Carbon Copy

Years later, when I moved into my own home with my husband, something strange happened. Without realising it, I became a carbon copy of my caregivers. My home quickly turned into a revolving door. Family would turn up unannounced, stay the weekend, and when they left, I would feel drained. I loved them, but I felt exhausted from hosting.

I had inherited the same pattern: giving endlessly, prioritising guests over my own well-being, and struggling to say no.

The belief that "visitors are treated like royalty" runs deep in many cultures. It’s a beautiful tradition, one rooted in generosity, care, and love. But what happens when the host is depleted? When giving becomes an obligation rather than a joy?

I watched my mother and grandmother pour themselves into their guests, cooking, cleaning, offering guidance, without hesitation. My grandfather would share fresh produce from his garden. This was their service, their love language. But I began to wonder: is there a healthier balance?

Breaking the Pattern

It took time, but I worked hard to break the cycle.

I had difficult conversations with my family, explaining that while I loved having them over, I needed boundaries. At first, it wasn’t easy. Change rarely is. But over time, we adjusted. Now, my parents and siblings always call before visiting. We cook together and share responsibilities, so hosting is no longer a burden on one person. It’s a communal experience, one that feels joyful rather than exhausting.

Made with love, shared with joy, this is what true hospitality feels like.

I still love having my family round. I love creating spaces for deep conversations, laughter, and connection. But now, I give from a full cup, not from a place of depletion.

Because hospitality is beautiful, but so is honouring yourself.

Let's Connect

If this resonates with you and you’d like to explore breathwork for healthy boundaries, balance and self-care, get in touch:

Website: www.in-exhalebreathe.com

Phone: 07779101861

Email: Inexhalebreathwork@gmail.com