The Entitlement Era: A Love letter to Boundaries

Or: What Happens When Grown Adults Forget That "No" Is a Complete Sentence

Everyone's talking about their Word of the Year. Mine is "unsubscribe."

I've always been terrible at following trends. Missed the boat on fidget spinners, sourdough starters, and whatever the hell "quiet quitting" was supposed to mean. While everyone else was posting their carefully curated vision boards and announcing their 2025 intentions, I was over here deleting emails and wondering when LinkedIn became a dystopian marketplace where strangers think a connection request is a binding contract.

But there's one trend I've noticed in the last few weeks that I can't ignore, no matter how hard I try. It's not on anyone's year-end roundup. It's not getting think pieces in Harvard Business Review. But it's real, it's alarming, and it's happening in DMs across every platform: the astonishing number of grown adults who think "no" is the opening line of a negotiation.

Cold DMs. Voice messages I didn't ask for. LinkedIn connection requests that come with a 47-page sales pitch attached like a barnacle to a ship's hull. And when you politely decline? The tantrums begin.

Perception vs. Position (Or: Why Strangers Think They Know You)

Here's the thing about being visible online: people form opinions about you based on approximately 0.003% of who you actually are. They see a post. Maybe two. Perhaps a headshot where you're smiling because your photographer told you to think about pizza. And suddenly they've decided that they know you, they know what you need, and they're the person to provide it.

I call this Perception vs. Position.

Their perception is that I'm accessible, available, and probably desperate for whatever they're selling. That because I post publicly, I'm open for business with anyone who happens to have fingers and a keyboard. That my inbox is a suggestion box for how I should spend my time and money.

My position? I have boundaries, a calendar, and a bullshit detector that's been working overtime since approximately 2019.

When these two things collide, that's when the fun starts. And by "fun" I mean the LinkedIn equivalent of watching someone kick a vending machine because it won't give them free Doritos. It's uncomfortable. It's unnecessary. And it reveals exactly who someone is when they don't get what they want.

The Voice DM Industrial Complex

Can we talk about unsolicited voice DMs for a second?

You know the ones. Thirty seconds of someone's voice in your inbox, explaining why you NEED to hop on a call with them, delivered with the casual confidence of someone who thinks they're doing you a favor. Like they've granted you an audience with their vocal cords and you should be grateful for the content.

I didn't ask for an audiobook of your sales pitch, Derek. I especially didn't ask for the follow-up text that says "just wanted to make sure you heard my voice message!" Yes, Derek. I heard it. That's precisely why I'm ignoring it.

There's something uniquely presumptuous about the voice DM. It takes the already-bold move of sliding into someone's inbox uninvited and adds a layer of intimacy that nobody requested. It says, "I'm going to make you listen to my voice, because text wasn't personal enough, and also I assume you have nothing better to do than play audio messages from strangers."

But here's where it gets interesting. When you do respond with a polite "no thanks," the mask slips. Fast.

The Feedback That Isn't Feedback

My new favorite genre of LinkedIn interaction is what I call The Aggressive Feedback Request. It goes something like this:

Them: "Hey, I'd love to connect and share an opportunity with you!"

Me: "Thanks, but I'm not interested."

Them: "Could you tell me why you're saying no? All feedback makes me better."

Here's the thing about this question: it's not actually a question. It's a trap disguised as professional development. It's a manipulation tactic wrapped in the language of growth mindset culture, and it banks on you feeling obligated to educate a stranger about why you don't want what they're selling.

Because when you do explain, politely and briefly, what happens? They argue with you. They tell you why you're wrong. They explain that actually, you DO need what they're selling, you just don't know it yet. They present counterpoints like they're in a debate club and your "no" was the resolution up for discussion.

And then, inevitably, they hit you with some version of: "I thought coaches would be more open to feedback."

Brother, I gave you feedback. You just didn't like it. What you wanted wasn't feedback. What you wanted was compliance disguised as conversation. You wanted me to give you another chance to pitch me, or you wanted ammunition to make me feel bad about declining.

Neither of those things is my responsibility.

The Tantrum Taxonomy

Let me catalog the responses I've received in just the last two weeks when declining cold pitches. This is not an exaggeration. This is an actual taxonomy of grown adults who were told "no" and responded like toddlers who were denied a candy bar at the checkout line.

The Guilt Trip: "Wow, I thought you'd be more open-minded." Translation: Your boundaries make you a bad person.

The Reverse Psychology: "Your loss." Translation: I'm going to pretend I don't care while making it very clear that I care deeply.

The Hostage Negotiation: "Give me ONE good reason why you don't have 20 minutes." Translation: I'm entitled to your time and you owe me an explanation.

The Fake Concern: "I'm just trying to understand your thinking here..." Translation: I'm about to explain why your thinking is wrong.

The Nuclear Option: "This is exactly why your industry has a problem." Translation: I'm going to insult your entire profession because you personally rejected me.

And my personal favorite, The Essay: A 400-word manifesto about how my "no" reveals deep character flaws, usually ending with "good luck with your business" which, as we all know, is code for "I hope you fail spectacularly and think of me when you do."

These are adults. With jobs. And presumably, health insurance. People who have somehow made it through multiple decades of life without learning that other people are allowed to have preferences that don't include them.

The Entitlement Economy

Here's what I think is actually happening. We've created an economy where everyone is told they can "reach anyone" on LinkedIn. That "you miss 100% of the shots you don't take." That "rejection is just redirection." That cold outreach is hustle, and hustle is virtue, and if you're not shooting your shot with every stranger who crosses your digital path, you're not serious about success.

And somewhere along the way, people started believing that access to someone's inbox equals entitlement to their time, attention, and emotional labor. That a connection request accepted is a foot in the door. That a DM sent is a meeting owed.

It's not.

A connection request is not a contract. A DM is not a meeting. And "no" is a complete sentence that doesn't require a supporting essay, three references, and a signed affidavit explaining your reasoning.

But we're living in what I'm calling the Entitlement Era, where declining something you didn't want in the first place is treated as a moral failing. Where having boundaries makes you "difficult." Where saying you don't have 20 minutes to hop on a call with a stranger is met with "Why not?" as if the burden of proof is on you to justify protecting your own time.

"Why won't you let me sell to you?" Because I don't want to, Kevin. That's the whole reason. That's the only reason I need.

A Message to the Cold DM Tantrums

Dear Person Who Just Sent Me Three Follow-Up Messages After I Said No,

I know you think I'm missing out. I know you've decided I'm close-minded, threatened by your success, or unable to recognize a good opportunity when it slides into my inbox with the subtlety of a foghorn.

I'm none of those things.

I'm just someone with boundaries. Boundaries about my time, my attention, and who I choose to work with. Boundaries that are not personal attacks on you, your business, or your worth as a human being.

And when you respond to those boundaries with insults, emotional manipulation, or unsolicited life coaching about how I should be "more open," you're not proving that I made the wrong decision. You're proving I made exactly the right one.

Your pitch might be great. Your service might be valuable. Your offer might genuinely help some people. I'm not disputing any of that. But the tantrum you throw when someone says "no"? That tells me everything I need to know about what it would be like to work with you.

It tells me that you don't respect boundaries. That you think persistence is the same as persuasion. That you believe everyone owes you their time simply because you asked for it. And that when things don't go your way, you resort to manipulation, guilt, or outright hostility.

So no, I won't be reconsidering. No, I don't owe you an explanation longer than "I'm not interested." And no, your follow-up message suggesting that my lack of interest is somehow a character flaw does not make me want to work with you more.

But I do appreciate the content. Really. You've made excellent material.

Sincerely,Someone Who's Done Being Polite About It

The Actual Trend

So what's my real Word of the Year? Not "unsubscribe," though that's a close second.

It's boundaries.

Not because I'm trying to be difficult. Not because I'm "not open to opportunities." Not because I'm closed-minded, resistant to growth, or any of the other things strangers have diagnosed me with in the last month.

But because every time I enforce a boundary, someone reveals exactly who they are when they don't get what they want. And honestly? That's incredibly valuable information.

The people who respect a "no" without requiring a dissertation, a justification, or an appeals process? Those are my people. Those are the people I want to work with, learn from, and collaborate with. People who understand that respect is the baseline, not the exception.

The ones who respond with "your loss" and a paragraph about my shortcomings? They've done me a favor by filtering themselves out. They've shown me, with absolute clarity, that they're not someone I want in my professional orbit. They've saved me time, energy, and the headache of finding out six months into a working relationship that they don't respect boundaries.

So keep the cold DMs coming, I guess. Keep the voice messages. Keep the aggressive feedback requests and the follow-up essays about my character flaws.

You're making my client selection process incredibly efficient. And you're giving me endless material.

Win-win.

The Bottom Line

If there's one thing I want you to take away from this, it's this: your boundaries are not negotiable. They're not mean. They're not evidence of a closed mind or a scarcity mindset or whatever other pop-psychology term someone wants to throw at you.

They're how you protect your time, your energy, and your sanity in a world that increasingly believes everyone is entitled to everyone else's attention.

So the next time someone slides into your DMs uninvited and throws a tantrum when you decline, remember: their reaction is not about you. It's about them. It's about their inability to hear "no." It's about their belief that persistence equals success and that your boundaries are obstacles to be overcome rather than limits to be respected.

And if they respond with insults, manipulation, or hostility?

Thank them for showing you exactly who they are. Then block them and move on with your day.

Because life is too short to negotiate with people who think your time belongs to them.

And my Word of the Year is still "unsubscribe."