I've been thinking a lot about how we process, handle and hold onto memories with others that are both good ones and bad ones. How do you hold in tension that someone that gave you one of your greatest and most special moments also hurt you to your core with their words and actions? A parent, a sibling, a friend, a lover. How do you still hold space for the good while admitting the bad was unconscionable?
I heard the phrase "holding in tension" about 10 years ago or so. It speaks to me. People fuck up. People who love us will hurt us. Hurt people will hurt people. Yet my life, my journey, my existence is made up of many experiences. Shouldn't I still celebrate the great ones, even if that same person went on to attempt to destroy me?
I feel like this is situational and there isn't a right or wrong answer. There are nuances, dynamics and issues that all come into play. So maybe for you if someone went on to harm you, the previous moment no longer held positive value for you? That's valid. But what if you can say something was great but that person also had severe issues and went on to project them onto you in a heinous and hurtful way? Oh shit...getting a little specific, huh?
Yin and yang representing the philosophy that life is incredibly non-dualistic, meaning there is a little bit of something in everything. In the good there is bad and the bad there is good.
I'm in a current space (which could change in an instant) where I'm trying to be in the moment. Being in the moment I can speak only to that moment and hold it dear. But this doesn't say that future actions of others don't deserve boundaries, repercussions and even my absence.
Sounds like I'm pretty bad ass about it, right? I'm not. Hard learning curve happening right now. I have many people I hold in tension for the good they gave me as well as the harm. I thank them for the joy but many times need to excuse myself from their lives due to the suffering they also caused. I say all this as only my experience and not something to model unless it actually speaks to you. I could easily see myself look at this 20 years from now and think "Oh what a naive fool!". Just enough light for the step I'm on.
Though I made the title of this post "Boundaries" it's way too big of a subject to tackle in a simple blog post. So I'm taking this from my point of view, my experience, my story, at this moment. I also add the disclaimer that I could be wrong about everything and later on change my mind.
I wasn't taught boundaries. As an Evangelical Christian, and a lowly female, I was taught to make everyone happy and say "yes". Everyone was considered above me and I was supposed to comply. Even when I'd rage about it, and fight in my head, in the end I usually did as told. I wasn't taught body autonomy. I wasn't taught that I could say "no" to an adult. Myself as a person, and all that encompasses, felt up for grabs by anyone.
With my highly extroverted and opinionated personality I did butt heads a lot. At one point I would have said I was a rebel as I did challenge people. But with many years behind me I see that I'm actually a rule follower. I'll bend the rules, go around them, reinterpret them in ways to feel like I haven't actually broken them. Yet even with my determined mind, I was slammed back to reality frequently in terms of boundaries.
I don't think I even heard of boundaries until maybe 12 years ago or so. When I did hear it the word sounded like being mean. And how interesting that I would believe that to tell someone they couldn't treat me a certain way, couldn't use me, couldn't touch me, couldn't say horrible things to me, was mean. I still struggle with suffocating my own feelings because I feel to put a person in their place would hurt their feelings and be mean.
Yet my lack of boundaries hasn't always been beneficial. I've seen recently how when I didn't put up a firm, and justified, boundary I actually hurt the other person in the end. Trying to be nice I would get in the way of a lesson they needed. And even if the lesson was painful for them, if they did the work, it could have been life changing. I've had to painfully put up a healthy boundary, definitely hurt the person, but with the true hope that they some day get the lesson.
Being nice is easy. Stuff your feelings, smile, say "it's no big deal", "I'm fine", and then change the subject before shit gets real. Boundaries are hard for me though I'm learning. And with each of my own personal lessons I find that the ground didn't open up and swallow me whole when I did the difficult thing.
I'm studying people with good boundaries. I watch how they interact, how they speak and how they carry themselves. Sometimes I even ask them for help.
And what's really the bottom line of all these boundaries? It's saying I matter. It's saying I count. It's saying I'm allowed to take up space in this world in the manner that feels safe for me. And it's kind of saying "fuck you" a little, right? :-)
I'm hearing the words "your story" used a lot these days. Telling your story. Owning your story. Living your story. Caught in your story. Releasing your story. What's your story? It feel like there are so many level, layers and angles here that I certainly can't tackle them all. But lets see what comes up.
My first thoughts about story is the chronological events that happened from my birth until today. In the telling of this story is where things go a little off, as there are other characters in our story, and their perception of what happened is often far different than our own. Our stories are then intermingled and you could even say a new story forms with each person that comes into the picture as the narrative progresses.
We are all the creators of our stories yet so often we get stuck on a certain aspect, usually something perceived as negative, that we believe becomes our entire story and furthermore can't be changed. I've heard after a painful divorce "No one will ever love me", after being cheated on "I'll never be able to trust again.", after a failure "I'll never succeed.". Sometimes even if the words aren't said out loud, it's playing in the background in our heads, and informs our choices. Our minds will work then to play out what we believe is our doomed story and it then begins a self fulfilling prophecy. I find those most caught up in their stories are also the ones who deny they have a destructive narrative happening. Myself included.
So how do we release our story and write a new one? Work, honesty and a belief life can be different. I hate hearing there is only one way also. For the alcoholic that finds AA, works the steps, and lives in freedom, there is another that drowns in that program. What speaks to one person can be annoying, even damaging, to another. For the lucky few they find it early in life and can do a rewrite many times. Then there's the rest of us...
For myself I like a tangible act; writing, ripping up and burning. It's funny that though I'm scared of fire that burning something is the most cathartic to me. And though I hate religion I do love the ceremony of it all. I do love a ritual and I'm allowing myself to make my own, as someone made all the others up anyway!
Perhaps the most difficult part of starting a new story, or getting out of the one you keep telling, is forgiveness. May I say how much I hate forgiveness! I understand the need for it, for the situation, for myself...but I fight it hard. Admittedly that most difficult part of forgiving is to forgive myself. Mistakes upset me. Having others see me falter is embarrassing and shameful. I suppose there is even a part of me that feels I need to beat myself up about it in order to not do it again....unfortunately that's probably the worst decision and most likely to result in it happening again.
On a good day I know these things (prepare for a lot of paraphrased Maya Angelou quotes): I did the best I could with what I had, and when I knew better I did better, I have nothing to prove to anyone, and why I write..."there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you".
Many of us have spent our entire lives being told we're too much. Too loud, Too talkative. Too wild. Too untamed. Too caring. Too sensitive. Too much. I posted a meme recently that said, "Society: be yourself. Being yourself: no not like that". I feel that hard.
I walk this line between doing what I want at full volume and keeping it at a level people can handle. I have friends who I watch their lives being their full selves, no inhibitions, no care of criticism and living out loud. I want that. I touch it periodically. Then the snide remarks come crashing in on me "Could you just take it down a notch?" "Calm down!" "Not so loud!" And it feel like verbal punches to my core.
So what would it look like for me to live fully in who I am? Rainbow hair? Possibly. Ridiculous outfits? Sometimes. Speaking without concern for your opinion? Whoa...now that's getting scary. And there it is...acceptance. We all want it though why are some of us able to function without it and others of us seek it like a drug?
I feel like the answer lies in "Nature, Nurture or Both?". You're born with it. Don't give a fuck. Live life on your terms. Or from your early years you were told you mattered, were already accepted, so you felt the freedom to let it all out? The lucky few get both.
What if you got neither? I know I sure didn't have parents telling me "You can be anything you want to be!". I can't even fathom how that would feel. From my vantage point no one thought I'd be anything. Yet there is something in me that fights it.
Studies were done trying to figure out why some children could come from sad upbringings: abuse, neglect, poverty, and yet they succeed where others crumble. The one determining factor was an adult in their life (teacher, relative, coach, etc...) who believed in them.
I can only recall one adult, really one sentence, where I felt fully believed in. I was in my senior year of high school in a creative writing class. I loved it! We had a writing assignment and I thought my piece was pretty funny. Got it back from the teacher and he said, "This is Letterman material.". (For you young people David Letterman was a late night talk show host and comedian.) I felt seen, heard and appreciated. Letterman material.
But I've also had a long life of being too much. Even good friends have asked me to "tone it down". What's so funny in all these instances of being "too much" is not once in my life have I gone all the way. Oh that was too much? I could have done so much more. But the clock is ticking...
My good friend and I speak every morning, and in our conversations we frequently challenge each other and push each other towards true happiness. She showed me a quote from Once Upon a Time where the question was asked "Who are you protecting?" and it jumped out at me. Because the answer wasn't that I was protecting myself so many times.
Who do I protect over myself? First thought is the feelings of others. Though I'm opinionated and blunt I never want to be hurtful. I've shut up many a time, or softened possibly more than I should, in order to protect someone who I felt I needed to be delicate around on the subject. I became my mother's protector at an early age. She had what I'd call a functional breakdown after divorcing my father. Functional in that she held a job and still maintained the basics of life, but her decision making went to shit. And I picked up the pieces and needed to be watchful for her and what horror might come next. Protected my child of course. But this feels deeper than all that.
At times I think I protect my younger self by not fully acknowledging all that happened. I've had times telling someone about an experience I had and I wasn't prepared for the shock on their face, nor their response saying, "I had no idea you were so abused!". That was abuse? It was pretty normal in my circles. When a way of life, being spoken to, being treated a certain way is all you know you don't even consider words like abuse, neglect and being marginalized.
I protect my past. (Though this blog is blowing that protection away.) I don't trust what people do with the information. I've been judged, laughed at, gossiped about and looked down on. Even when I let you know something, no matter how juicy, I won't tell it all until I'm sure you can handle it. Most can't handle much.
I've protected, apologized, gotten small, let boundaries be broken and allowed myself to be walked on. Those days are gone. You've been warned.
I've had a few situations recently where someone I cared about purposefully, and with full intent, said things to hurt me. Both of these people I loved, were close to and would never harm. Though each situation was different the common thread was their purposeful cruelty to cause pain. I'd been truthful with each of them, something incredibly difficult for someone who hates conflict, but choose my words carefully as I chose to be as kind as possible. Instead of listening to hear me they chose rage.
It's the ultimate betrayal when you are vulnerable with someone, brutally honest with your insecurities, trusting that can hold these things for you with care, only to have them venomously spit back in your face. What gets me most though is the intention. The calculation that's involved to think up the ways that would be most damaging to another's heart and soul, and then to act on that knowing full well what the outcome will be to them. With that level of thought it's hard not to believe that there isn't some glee and joy in knowing the pain they will cause.
So I of course need to ask myself where I have done this. I've done it to both of my parents numerous times. Did it to my ex husband. I expect there are many other instances I'm not remembering. And what was at the core of my need to say such vile things? Hurt. Deep intense burning hurt. As the saying goes, "Hurt people, hurt people.". So much hurt.
Where do I go now? I've been purposeful also and have chosen silence. No retaliation. No endless spewing of words to cut deeper. I'm walking away and letting karma sort it out.
Do I forgive them? Whoa...slow down now. These fuckers do not deserve forgiveness!! Yeah, yeah, yeah I know forgiving is for me and not them, holding onto bitterness is like you drinking poison and expecting them to die, blah blah blah. I'm a shitty forgiver. My mother liked to say, "You remember every bad word ever said to you since birth!" I'd reply, "And most are from you!". Yes, I'm a bitter bitch. Even if you've hurt me and apologize, though I will smile and tell you it's all good....I remember.
So this is quite the conundrum; while I'm this zen master who can walk away and not go into full retaliation, I harbor all the bitterness and anger. If I can go all therapy language on this, I clearly feel I need these feelings as protection. You hurt me and I need to remember so I'm prepared for you to do it again. Or so I can prevent from you getting anywhere near me to cause me suffering. Frankly it's amazing I let down my walls at all.
There are some truths I can say about myself here: at my core I'm a kind person, an honest person and an accountable person. And I can say with both of these individuals that my side of the street is clean.
I feel the word triggered is overused. I see it used as a joke and I feel it takes away the impact from those who truly have a visceral response to a moment. Now though I don't have a psychology degree, I've sure been in therapy long enough to speak like I do. Anyone can experience a trigger. Our minds can be drawn back to an experience through smell, sight, feel and countless other ways.
Speaking only from my own experience but a full on trigger for someone with PTSD is much different than a bad memory coming back. Your body feels like the trauma is happening again. I call it a panic attack on crack. Even when you can logically tell yourself that this isn't the same, there is a pathway in your brain that goes back there and you physically feel it all again.
I've been hyper triggered recently. Before I share this story let me assure you that I'm safe and fine. All is well. A friend helped point out to me that my adrenals were firing on all cylinders and my mind was reliving the past, even though in the present I was safe. She would repeatedly remind me "You're safe now. What you experienced was in the past." Yet the body/mind connection is amazing in what it believes. I found I was behaving, and my body feeling, as if it was all happening again.
I've spoken in previous posts about being hyper vigilant about my safety. Yet this comes out in unexpected ways. You would think I carried a gun, mace, multiple locks on my doors, security system...I do none of that. I'm always aware of the exits, I know my escape routes, I look for places to hide. Watching and watchful. I don't talk about it. You would never know what I'm doing. It's pretty much involuntary at this point.
So how did these reactions even come about? (I'm going to type fast, no editing, we'll see what comes out) After my parents divorced my mother got involved with multiple violent men. Married one of the monsters. When other girls were trying on prom dresses I was hiding knives around the house and thinking up the best way to kill him. I was told no matter what I heard downstairs that I had to stay in my room or he'll kill me. I was suicidal, drinking, smoking and doing anything I could not to feel. Our first time making a run for it we were forced to move in 1 hour. Entire house, no warning, 1 hour. Though my parents' divorce was horrible and bitter my father took pity on my mother and got a bunch of women from his Christian singles group to help pack. I was thankful for them but also wanted to slap a few bitches as I saw the looks they gave my mother and I. As we were leaving the current man walked up. In my head I was screaming to myself to get a knife and kill him. I stood there immobile until my father pulled me away. The bigger monster, the one she married, is where I truly honed my skills. The cycle was he'd go on a rampage, my mother would run to my friend's house and I would meet her there. She'd take what little money I saved, as he'd taken all of hers, take my car, again because he took hers and I'd say OK but you have to leave. Then she'd go back. I got used to hiding in hallways, peering out the side of a window to see where he was, checking my car's backseat, looking for all the escape routes. She would be crying as I told her to shut up so he couldn't hear us. She'd sob and tell me how smart I was as I'd find a way out, hide us or find some creative way to keep us safe. I was 18.
My heart is racing typing that. I suppose I triggered myself. This is a hard one to publish. Possibly the most difficult. I guess my core point was to ask yourself if you're really triggered or just having a bad memory. But that's not fair. The pain and suffering on this earth wasn't given out fairly. What I would consider a bad day may have been the worst moment of your life. I guess we're all allowed our triggers.
