Boundaries are complex beasts. For years, decades, I’ve believed I had a healthy relationship with boundaries – an assuredness about what and where my boundaries were and the ability to draw them clearly and kindly. I have recently come to realise I was very wrong. A few simultaneous events drew my attention to my lack of defined boundaries, and strangely, how my flimsy, blurry boundaries were causing different relationships to play out in curiously similar ways.
I’ve never thought of myself as a people-pleaser, certainly not someone who shies away from confronting or robust discussions. In fact, I’ve always felt like a boat-rocker, a little gnome collecting far-flung idea-treasure and meticulously integrating it into my life. And yet, I saw in myself this surprising but totally understandable fear. Fear of letting people down, fear of creating conflict through my own selfishness, fear of rejection, fear of hurting others, fear of damaging a group dynamic because of my individual needs or actions.
These fears were all nurtured in my family context, which I internalised so thoroughly that they became invisible, seemingly-intrinsic parts of me. Sacrifice your needs for others. Don’t be selfish. Share. Be welcoming and generous. Open door policy. If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.
Of course these fears are also inexorably coloured by cumbersome gender expectations, adding bitter flavour and depth to the existing tumult. But I have begun to see and acknowledge the fear, and I relish the opportunity to reframe my relationship with boundaries. Yes, it seems terrifying to create delineations. But I think that fear is worth confronting, for empowerment and fulfilment lie beyond it. That looming, seemingly insurmountable wall becomes easier to scale with practise. So, I determine to practise. To reflect on my needs, to openly, honestly and kindly draw my boundaries, and trust that the people I love and that love me want those boundaries respected. Maybe even revered.