STOP Trying to Make People Respect You & DO THIS Instead

People often misunderstand this completely. You can request to be treated with respect, but you cannot compel someone else to respect you. It’s surprising, yet true. Most of us have attempted to shape other people—to make them act as we expect, to behave in ways that suit us, to give us what we assume they owe us. That desire is natural. But when another person doesn’t share that inclination, trying to force their compliance becomes exhausting. Some people naturally line up with us and will cooperate; it’s the ones who don’t that jam everything up, because they don’t care about our boundaries the way we do. They care about their own wants, and we delude ourselves into thinking we had an agreement with them when really there are two people with different goals. Because of that reality, it falls to you to honor your own limits. You must defend what you need, even if that means leaving to protect yourself. Believing you can force others to be the person you demand is one of the reasons boundaries feel so difficult. It’s tempting to treat boundary-making as someone else’s responsibility instead of your own. The sooner you see through this mistaken belief—that if you just shout loud enough someone will abandon their plan and adopt yours—the sooner you’ll escape that mental trap. If you find yourself caught in a battle, you’re likely not aligned with the other person. That truth is painful to accept, and the things we can’t face clearly tend to confuse us.
How did we arrive at such confusion? If you grew up with abuse or neglect and are only now starting to heal, boundaries can feel new and you might blame others for the problem. It’s common to attribute all difficulties to other people. Sometimes that is accurate—when someone harms, violates, or steals from another, the fault lies squarely with them. Yet much of the anger and frustration around boundaries springs from a mistaken idea about what a boundary actually is. I used to dismiss the whole concept as nonsense. Early in my recovery, I went to those 12-step meetings for families of alcoholics, and when people spoke about boundaries I thought they were overly fussy, perfectionistic. Back then I labeled it as psycho-babble; I lacked the awareness to recognize boundary behavior or to perceive how limiting the absence of boundaries can be. Without them, it’s unsafe to move forward into situations. In that sense I did know something of it, but I lacked a clear definition.
Many people ask how to get loved ones to respect their boundaries more, how to make them sensitive to CPTSD symptoms, how to make them care and help. Wanting that support and consideration is both natural and appropriate. But here’s a hard truth: you can ask someone to understand and to help you avoid triggers, yet they are not obligated to do so. That doesn’t necessarily mean they don’t care or don’t support you. In some cases, the most loving act they can offer is to give you space to notice your trauma reactions and work through them internally. You may have been told you have a right to have your boundaries respected—your right to be treated in certain ways. I assert that while you have a right to ask for what you need, boundaries themselves aren’t literally a legal right in most everyday contexts; it’s a matter of respect, not force. Trying to coerce others into managing your trauma responses is unfair and won’t succeed. Respect is not something won by making people obey your demands. When you attempt to make someone act against their will, that’s control. Everyone in your life retains the right not to be controlled by you—and you likewise have a right not to be controlled by others. What you do have the right to is to ask, and to choose not to spend time with someone. Crucially, you have the right to remove yourself from destructive situations.
Loved ones who care may be willing to change if asked, though they might not. PTSD-driven thinking can convince you that someone you love owes you a change simply because you’re attached to them. But in situations where you aren’t physically restrained, people are not actually doing things “to” you; they are being themselves, even if you dislike it. They are not impeding your healing because you can leave. When people continue their own routines and give you the space to navigate your triggers, you gain an opportunity to develop the one lasting solution: self-regulation. When you become regulated, options open up. One of them is removing yourself from someone whose behavior you dislike. For instance, I find being around heavy drinking uncomfortable—after all I’ve seen a lot of that in my life—so I choose not to spend time where drinking is prevalent. That is my prerogative. It doesn’t mean attempting to silence an entire restaurant or confronting every stranger who drinks; it means you set the conditions you will tolerate. Not everyone will treat you with the care you want; they won’t necessarily honor your boundaries. Those boundaries define what you won’t accept, and often that means removing yourself. There are exceptions—workplaces, shared housing, or legal rights—where different rules may apply, but for most personal interactions continually trying to force others into your mold only creates distance, resentment, and eventual breakdown, and it seldom results in the outcome you hoped for.
Often the effort to make others change stems from a kind of magical thinking that we entered a relationship expecting the other person to be, say, 15% different—and that if they would only shift that small amount, they’d be our perfect partner. We choose to see the best in them, and when reality falls short we feel betrayed. That expectation doesn’t serve anyone. When you are emotionally regulated you can see more clearly whether someone is merely being themselves, whether they are inconsiderate, or whether they are genuinely harmful—maybe even abusive or a bully. If you’ve asked someone to change multiple times and they still don’t, continuing to ask becomes an attempt to control. Even if you manage to make someone behave differently, it rarely creates genuine feeling of support or connection. You’re likely left with a brittle, resentful relationship. At some point, you must either let go of the grievance or let the relationship go. Persistent demands and nagging will drain you and everyone around you. It’s tempting to think that if others would change everything would be fine. Many people with trauma argue that the world must change, not them, and react strongly to messages that encourage personal change. That perspective is often an error of scope—believing you can flip a dial and transform the world in the exact way you desire. Even political promises to remake society rarely achieve that magnitude of change. Moreover, if you fix yourself by getting someone else to accommodate all your needs, you only seal your wounds into a constricted chamber. You may create a superficially compliant partner, but your own character and healing are unlikely to develop. Relationships conditioned on controlling or coddling won’t usually deepen into the responsive, anticipating companionship most of us long for.
True growth often comes through friction—problems that force us to rise to the challenge. People living around us will trigger us at times; it’s impossible to avoid triggers entirely. Many with childhood trauma respond by withdrawing—isolating to avoid the pain. Isolation may reduce triggers but also blocks fulfillment and connection. The task, then, is to keep away from those who would harm you and to make peace with others as they are. Peace with people comes from knowing healing happens inside you. Other people’s behavior matters, but they cannot heal you or eliminate your triggers; even if they want to, they don’t have the power to do it for you.
Have you ever tried to help someone who refused to change? Or been on the receiving end of help that felt like criticism? That happens because telling someone how they should be is inherently critical. Sometimes correction is appropriate—parents telling dependent teens to change behavior may have a right to do so because of the living arrangement or financial dependence—but once someone is an autonomous adult, you generally don’t have the right to dictate how they must live. Teenagers were once like extensions of our bodies; then they become separate people who must work things out themselves. Setting boundaries is difficult and not always well understood culturally. People who are emotionally immature or narcissistic may react badly to boundaries, making them a kind of test: set a limit and see how they respond. I don’t advise using people as experiments, but you’ll find that some take it poorly. The situation can become confusing because boundaries can also be misused to exert control. If someone feels controlled, they aren’t necessarily wrong to feel hurt—they’re just feeling what they feel. Two people may clash over simple needs—one wanting quiet at night, the other needing to walk around and eat late after work—and both are “being themselves.” The solution is negotiation, not dominance. Trauma wounds about never being listened to can make a person overly intense: “You’re not listening to me, change!” When a request is valid, you still must weigh whether it’s your place to demand change and whether you’re prepared to accept the answer.
Sometimes love means tolerating someone’s imperfections; sometimes self-preservation means leaving. Have you ever been in the position of someone trying to “help” you and insisting you change? That appears in self-help books, therapy, and friend-to-friend advice—and yes, even in videos like mine. No one can change you without your willingness. Influence is possible, but only if you want it and aren’t blocked by defenses. People shape each other, for better or worse, so choose carefully whose influence you accept and be realistic about how much influence you can exert in turn.
When I first discovered the daily practices that transformed my life, I rushed home to my family—grieving, alcoholic dynamics all around—and tried to make everyone follow the exercises. I handed out pens and paper and believed they’d be as uplifted as I was. Instead, they were annoyed and none of them engaged; I left in a huff. My intentions were good, but I had attempted to impose my experience on others. Years later, when I posted the same practice on YouTube, hundreds of people found it useful on their own terms. I couldn’t force them to try it; I could only offer what helped me and let viewers decide. People will react; some complain about video length, some wish I wouldn’t use certain words. Those preferences often spur me to hold firmer to my voice. I’m convinced every person is made in the image of God and that trying to control someone’s self-expression is an improper interference. But help is needed—especially for children and for people when they’re ill. In close relationships we sometimes must say, “Your behavior is preventing me from sleeping,” or “Your drinking is destroying our marriage.” The key is to know what’s realistic to expect: a calm, safe environment might be possible with some people and not with others. Loved ones can encourage you to use your tools when you’re dysregulated—that’s a loving response. The techniques I use are simple: a pen, paper, and a chair, and when you learn to regulate, the overreactions and unreasonable demands you place on others will shrink. You’ll be astonished how much easier it becomes for people to love you when you release that pressure and simply show up present. It’s a relaxing, freeing way to be.
When you’re about to demand change, it’s usually time to “stop and drop”: halt the escalation and sit where you can write out your fears and resentments. If you don’t know how to do that, there’s a free course available—the second link in the description or the QR code—that teaches two quick techniques to calm inner storms. The course is concise, powerful, and helps you feel clearer and more at ease fast. It’s a helpful starting point. Once you get relief from fearful and resentful thoughts, things become clearer. The emotional fire cools and the truth becomes apparent. It’s not your fault you were abused or neglected as a child, but you and I are responsible for stopping the cycle of acting out on that trauma. We have to experiment, notice what triggers us, and practice calming those responses if we want to reduce them. No one can do that inner work for us. Some people will embrace what you’re learning and support you, but most will not—and yelling at them undermines the goal.
How do you move toward neutrality? One of the most useful rules is: don’t talk when you’re triggered. Pause. When you’re dysregulated, your thinking is off-balance; anger, by definition, will sound unreasonable to others. Have you been labeled too harsh, too demanding? That’s often because you’ve fallen into a mindset that insists others conform to your expectations. If you’re coming at someone like that, it’s better to postpone the argument. Wait until you’re regulated, then speak with intention instead of flinging words that may hurt irreparably. If you find yourself triggered, say something simple: “I’m having a stress reaction; give me a moment to sort myself out.” Don’t parade your pain as an accusation—“You made me feel this way, fix it”—but take a timeout to write down your fears and resentments. That simple practice can defuse intense feelings and let you present concerns concisely and intelligibly so the other person can actually hear you. Clear, brief communication after you calm down is far more likely to be received.
If you’re watching videos and wondering whether past trauma still affects your life, it helps to recognize common signs of childhood PTSD. You can download a quiz—the top link in the description or the QR code—to check whether your current struggles may trace back to early neglect or abuse. Knowing this can normalize your experience and point you toward healing. It might seem impossible, but regulation is attainable once you own the problem and stop blaming others for your feelings. Abuse is a different matter—if someone is abusive, that should be addressed as its own urgent concern—but for everyday interactions you usually have a choice about how you show up. If someone’s behavior is truly damaging you, get out. But if you want the relationship to work, assume you intend for it to be good and start by noticing a reaction and resisting the urge to immediately unload everything. Say, “I’m triggered, let me step away and return when I’m calmer,” then go write your fears and resentments and come back with something manageable.
When you do that, your conversations become simpler, lighter, and easier for the other person to hear. And ultimately, nothing compares to the peace of knowing that whatever present-day reaction arises from childhood trauma, you can handle it. You will keep your boundaries and gradually reopen to the love and joy life still offers. It’s time.