On Boundaries
Something, this week, reminded me that I don’t like having my boundaries pushed. At all. It was hard red light that caught me by surprise—because the situation caught me by surprise. It doesn’t matter what it was—only that it was.
There is something deeply affirming about being known, seen, and understood. There is something incredible about being shown that, through gestures. Because care from those we care about matters. It’s part of the reason we have people.
But to show that kind of care properly (effectively?), you have to know someone. It’s the difference between my mom surprising me with my best friend visiting ages ago (flew in from a different state) and an acquaintance waking me up out of a dead sleep—and me accidentally slapping them. (I am also not a slapper? So, that was an interesting learning experience for us both.)
I was talking with a friend after the boundaries thing, and I remarked that it is really important to have context. To been understood in a particular way. To know what happens if X happens. To be in a position to learn that.
Sometimes, you don’t know what you don’t know. And while your heart may be in the right place, that intention matters less than the result. I know that I try to move through life with effusive love and reckless kindness—even more so toward those I love.
But I respect boundaries always. Do I struggle with them sometimes? Yes, I am human. I think we all do, occasionally. But I spent some time this week thinking on some hard moments where my boundaries were disrespected, and oooooof. Those are unpleasant memories.
And while one of those moments (from years ago) might be framed as a grand, romantic gesture, my point of view is markedly different. And if I had been seen and understood, the other person would’ve known that—would’ve known I wouldn’t appreciate it at all. That the gesture itself was self-serving and unwelcome.
Some moments are like that—twofold revelations. The gesture itself is unwanted, and then there’s the realization that not seen as you are. That the other person doesn’t get you. And those feelings stick with you, not unlike a haunting. Dancing around the edges of everything.
One of the worst feelings in the world is failing to be seen. Another is getting your hopes up, only to have them come crashing down like a pile of bricks. But that’s another story.
I love being shown affection from those I care about—the ones who get my silly messages and animal photos. Who I drag things to like a ridiculous penguin: SHINY ROCK. (But, you know, a picture of the sunset.) Like everyone else, I want to feel/be loved. And as much as it terrifies me sometimes, I want to be seen too. It’s easy for people to get caught up in the idea of me, rather than me.
But there has to be a sense of connection and reciprocity, or I will run. I will NOPE out so hard that you will forget my name before you can blink. Because I don’t let everyone close to me. I don’t try with everyone. So, when I do, it matters.
And if I don’t? That matters too.