Drawing the Line

[Instead of divulging all the gory details, I’ll just say that the last ten days or so have been one of those periodic mid-terms that the Universe springs on us to see if we’ve truly learned the material. As it was in school, it’s hard not to choke under pressure; to remember that you know the material and if you stay calm, you’ll be able to apply it. This test has included just about every unit of the syllabus for emotional maturity and personal growth, and it seems that the extra credit portion that ties most of the concepts together is on boundaries. I wrote the following essay about a year ago, and I’m sharing it here as a reminder to myself--and to any of you who may need one.]

Until I was well into my fifties, “boundaries”, to my knowledge, were delineated in sports, property, and international waters. I’d never heard the term used in connection with interpersonal relations and was completely unfamiliar with the concept. It had never once occurred to me that I didn’t have to answer every call from my mother (a telephone terrorist), or that I didn’t have to answer intrusive questions or listen to unsolicited advice from a new friend, or that I didn’t have to mindlessly accept and perform the role I’d been assigned in the family drama. I had absolutely no clue that it was my responsibility to make clear, and stand up for, the parameters of what was acceptable to me.

I remember being flummoxed when, in yet another attempt at therapy, I watched a video of Brene Brown talking about boundaries. It was a total headscratcher. I could sort of grasp her theory that boundaries could protect our peace and sanity, and I loved her down-to-earth suggestion that boundaries are what allow us to believe that people don’t really suck. But I was at a total loss as to how one went about drawing or enforcing a boundary. Early on, I envisioned a boundary as a punishment for those that would attempt to trample my fragile, newfound peace. Which, I now know, was entangled with my feeling, following years of abject people-pleasing, that I was behaving badly by standing up for myself. It would take time, and lots of trial and error, to understand viscerally that clarifying and enforcing my boundaries is a life-enhancing gift that I richly and unconditionally deserve.

Sitting in my backyard after a swim recently, I was reflecting on how far I’d come on this adventure. It struck me that my painstaking, incremental construction of this now near-perfect oasis has mirrored my slow but steady understanding and erection of the personal boundaries that have significantly decreased drama and resentment and contributed to the skyrocketing peace and joy in my life.

When I first bought my mermaid cottage, I was euphoric that I’d found a house seemingly custom-made for me in the neighborhood I loved. No improvements were necessary, I thought, and the backyard with a pool quickly became my happy place. I did notice that the fence had deteriorated a bit, leaving gaps in some spots where the wood had rotted away, but thought little of it. Until one day our chihuahua disappeared through a gap. My heart resumed beating when I found him next door amiably conferring with three huge dogs who could have easily enjoyed him as a snack. I covered that gap with a board, but soon my dog and the German shepherd next door began a daily game of communing through the fence, running along it at high speed and bashing into it until there were new gaps everywhere. Through these gaps came all manner of visitors: possums, stray cats, snakes, frogs. Sort of interesting at first (nature!) and no more than a minor annoyance. When finally, I noticed that the gorgeous bougainvillea vines I’d inherited were about to topple the fence, it was time to act. A new fence would be a major investment, but it was going to be worth it.

Meanwhile, in therapy, I was learning that there were alternatives to sticking with the metaphorical fence I’d inherited, which was little more than a decimated chain-link ruin. The unreasonable demands of my family and a few friends, their intrusive questioning and expectations of access, my mistaken notion that my teenage daughter should be privy to my every thought, feeling, and action were the feral creatures that ran unchecked through my psychic backyard. And the outward sweetness and compliance barely concealing my enormous rage was the vine that was about to pull the whole thing down.

I spent thousands on a new fence, and it looked fabulous. While I was at it, I hired a landscaper and painted the pool deck. My new outdoor refuge brought such solace and delight. Over time, though, I noticed small breaches of the perimeter. Because of the uneven terrain of my lot, the bottom of the fence did not meet the ground in some areas, leaving gaps from one to several inches. Snakes still visited often, frogs laid their eggs in the pool several times (not a fan of swimming laps with tadpoles), and quite a few kittens narrowly escaped evisceration by my furious pup. So, I had a landscaper close all the gaps at the bottom of the fence. Later, when it was in danger of becoming destabilized by tree roots or hurricane winds, I had it shored up and adjusted.

This battle for control over my yard was fought in parallel to the battle for sovereignty over my life. My first attempts at defining boundaries were brave but incomplete. Brave because a lifetime of people-pleasing and low self-esteem made it terrifying to say no. To anyone, for anything. Incomplete because when I did manage to do so, I could not resist the urge to apologize and explain and justify my position as if I were on trial for committing a felony. I was also basically resentful of others for what I saw as forcing me to deal with all this unpleasantness.

As I began to heal and realize my self-worth, it became slightly easier to withstand attempted trampling of my boundaries by reinforcing them. In turn, I eventually became less defensive about disappointing others. Once I internalized that this was something I was doing for myself, because I deserved to live my own life in peace, setting a boundary became an opportunity rather than an onerous chore. The grooves established by a lifetime without boundaries are deep, though, so this is a skill that I’ll need to continue to practice until my time here on the planet is up.

Establishing and enforcing boundaries with new people in my life has been straightforward and wildly successful. With those who knew me when, not so much. I am the renegade of my extended family; the kook who tries to talk about things like self-esteem and compassion and authenticity. Personal autonomy is not valued by my clan (perhaps the mother of all understatements), and my boundaries have invariably resulted in disapproval, hard pushback, and in some cases, exile. My initial (immature) response to this was fury. I now realize that it would be as senseless to be angry at these incursions as it would to be angry with the occasional feral cat that manages to jump over my fence. They’re just acting according to their nature and their own interests; my job is to do the same and gently escort them out of my yard.

***

Thanks for reading. As I was preparing to post today, I came across this quote in a book review of What It Takes to Heal, by Prentis Hemphill:

“Boundaries are the distance at which I can love you and me simultaneously”.

Talk about eloquently summing it up…

Please share your thoughts.