I would have rather learned about boundaries a long time ago- like 50 years ago. I know an understanding of boundaries could have saved me a lot of pain and suffering, as well as strengthened my dignity and self respect. But I was raised by people without boundaries who were raised by people without boundaries. I am many generations twice removed from boundaries. For me, what I say no or yes to has been a mystery governed by codependency and fear.
When I started therapy eight plus years ago I was codependent on pretty much everyone. Even people in traffic. I would miss my turn to not annoy someone by doing something like turning. I couldn’t wear sunglasses or carry a purse because I thought people would think I was trying too hard. If inside I was saying no,no, no, my voice would say yes. There were times I would say no, but to things that would have been good for me and bad for you. Do you see? I stayed in unhealthy relationships and friendships. I was pleasing and agreeable and without backbone. Work for free? Absolutely. Ask very little from people? Of course. Be manipulated? Easily.
I did not understand how to claim and own my own feelings because the way I understood my feelings was: My feelings are things instructed by how others feel and that directs me, not my own instructions directing me.
For me, codependency is braided with addiction and some dissociation. They have worked together to protect me and also to keep me away from harm and from myself. Now I have learned to feel this system at work. It is fascinating to be in a therapy session and begin to cry and then that feeling vanishes like an elusive cool summer wind. I can physically feel the sadness slowly shrinking, sneaking away. My tears up in my throat and yet…not willing to fall. This coping mechanism is so strong that I can urge myself to let the tears come and I physically cannot. So right now they come in small run ups that last only a few seconds. It’s like how a tsunami gathers itself to rush the shore: I am gathering myself to cry in waves that might toss or drown me, right now I can’t.
And yet. Over the years I have learned how to drive defensively. I wear sunglasses and carry a little clutch wallet. I have wriggled and pushed into more space for myself, my being. I’ve ended relationships that I didn’t want to be in. I’ve stuck up for myself even when it was confusing because it’s a foreign concept to me. It’s like trying to yo yo and not understanding string. You keep winding up and letting go. I gave up for a while, happy with being sober as a benchmark of personal success. I gave up for a few years, feeling like I’d asked enough, my sobriety was enough. It was enough to not be drunk, not be be numb. Boundaries and more seemed like a lot to ask from life.
And yet. It’s amazing to me how life doesn’t give up even when I do. My life waits for me in the background. It seems to have endless patience and such a willing heart. It waits with this joy that feels true and impossible- like how the fuck can it just sit back, lounge back and watch me go by like clouds with all the time in the world and not get up and yell with impatience? But it doesn’t. It holds the door as long as it takes for me to arrive.
I always arrive. As long as I’ve been sober and been working on it I have gotten here, wherever here is at the time. Whether it’s learning more about myself, surrender, staying sober, leaving my marriage, ending other relationships that aren’t good for me, trying, trying again, starting a business, staying in business, being so frustrated with my parents that I think we’ll never work it out and then working it out again, not giving up, giving up- I arrive. I arrive in places that don’t seem to have a destination- the places of emotional sobriety and maturity that are so grounding and real and yet were invisible until I got here.
I’m doing an improv class and I didn’t feel like an asshole the whole time. I had a blast! I didn’t think about my clothes or my weight or looking foolish. I just went for it. I had as much fun as I could have, and I woke up the next morning still buzzing from the joy of it.
This is how I know I have changed in deep deep ways I would not have thought possible even one year ago. I have been looking for the open doors, I say yes when fear says no. Boundaries are my voice, this is ok/this is not ok, I practice over and over using that voice with trust- not fear, not addiction, not codependency. I practice not needing to be numb. One day I will cry for the whole therapy session. I will let the gathered tsunami roar forth, rush the shore, and offer my heart. Life is here, holding the door, and holding my hand, ushering me in again and again as I trot up to grab the handle and hold the door open- wide fucking open- for me.