In the world of campervan living, boundaries aren’t just emotional; they’re spatial, sensory, and sometimes about who gets the last oat biscuit. When you’re sharing a few square metres with another human, saying “no” becomes a survival skill. And saying it without apologising? That’s advanced campervan diplomacy.

Let’s be honest: British culture has trained many of us to say “sorry” for breathing too loudly. But in a campervan, over-apologising leads to emotional clutter. You don’t need to justify your need for quiet, your refusal to chat before tea, or your decision to retreat behind a curtain with a grief journal and a hot water bottle. That’s not rudeness, it’s rhythm.

Boundaries in a van are sacred. They’re the difference between cohabitation and co-existence. They’re the reason your compost loo isn’t a confessional booth. They’re why you’ve labelled the drawer “Do Not Rearrange Unless Spiritually Moved.”

And the beauty of campervan boundaries? They’re visible. You can literally design them. A curtain becomes a pause. A shelf becomes a signal. A closed kettle lid says, “Not now.” You’re not shutting anyone out; you’re honouring your own shape.

So, say no. Say it kindly, clearly, and without a single “sorry.” Your campervan isn’t just a vehicle, it’s a boundary-led sanctuary. And you, dear traveller, are allowed to take up space in it.

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