Boundaries. Bound dairies. Bound uh reese. What do you see when you hear this word? Does it call in to mind crop circles? Or cows out to pasture. Or giant walls along southern borders. Or, even, healthy ways of maintaining your sanity.
That last bit is new for me. I grew up a rule follower. Following the rules strictly meant I was less likely to be yelled at, hit, shamed, embarrassed. It was a protection mechanism I deployed to survive. None of those rules (dare I say, boundaries) were products of my own learnings – 100% were rules imposed on me. I think that’s the natural order of the world. When we are kids, we trust the adults around us to keep us safe – that’s what rules are for. Parents around my age seem to deploy a more democratic environment to rule imposition. However, in my era, I heard “what did I say?” frequently – I get it. “Do as I say, not as I do?” “Do you think I made these rules for fun?” Or the ever fun countdown, which meant, you have 5 seconds to rethink that approach.
That rebellious age of breaking your parents rules is the process of denying someone else from establishing your boundaries only to find out that certain rules actually do make sense.
Don’t stay up too late on a school night. (This one is becoming clearer to me the further I get from my 20s.)
Wash your dishes as you dirty them.
Respect authority figures.
Do not lie.
Wash your hands.
The list goes on. But what is the difference between rules and boundaries?
To be honest, this came up recently because of a romantic relationship I was in. I loved this guy. Thought he a fantastic human – full of curiosity, generosity, intellect, and compassion. But he always seemed to want more of me. That in and of itself is not a problem. But it became a problem because I wasn’t prepared to give more than what I was capable of giving. His need crossed right over a boundary that I didn’t even know I had. And to further complicate the situation, because what relationship isn’t complicated, he wanted blame it on me. I was moody, inarticulate, unpredictable, non-commital, etc.
Where my words fail, Rachel Cusk has me covered. If you haven’t read her work yet, brilliant. She writes on life after divorce, rebuilding yourself and your perspective on life:
“Sometimes it has seemed to me that life is a series of punishments for such moments of unawareness, that one forges one’s own destiny by what one doesn’t notice or feel compassion for; that what you don’t know and don’t make the effort to understand will become the very thing you are forced into knowledge of.”
I remember coming home after an especially difficult weekend, to my boyfriend, who exposed that our relationship was “unhealthy” and he didn’t feel “safe”. I quote, not to degrade his words, but to make it known that I am not putting these words in his mouth. I felt a shock. I thought we had a lovely relationship. We travelled well. We learned from each other. We could go out or stay in. We challenged each other’s beliefs and perspectives and yet had a common belief system that seemed to be a strong foundation. There were miscommunications, missteps, and difficult conversations. But overall, they appeared to be worth it. And frankly, 8 months in, necessary.
Recognizing that as humans, in our 30s or older, we have a certain self-awareness, emotional <im>maturity, and grasp on compatibility. There are kinks to work out and understanding and awareness of the other person to be had. Toilet paper under or over. Spoons up or down in the dishwasher. 2% or whole. Organic and grass fed or economical. Planning or spontaneous. The beauty of the relationship is, for me, finding out these things and learning buttons and triggers. Not to intentionally use them (oops, that does happen sometimes), but to figure out where good and bad energy begins in another person.
After that conversation, I revisited so many of our interactions. What did I miss? What warning signs did he give me that I swept under the rug? Did I actually see the signs but intentionally ignore them? Why on earth would I do that? And did he have a good point? Were we unhealthy, unhappy, and in need of either a change or a solution?
This is where “compromise” muddies the water for me. Where am I unwilling to compromise? And does the fact that I am unwilling to compromise push me into an area of “not good dating material” and certainly “not marriage material.” Not that those are my end game, but you get the gist…
What boundaries my parents taught me in the form of rules – don’t overstay your welcome – became clear to me again as an adult. This was a worthwhile imposition for me. When does a relationship cross from curiosity and joy to expectations and pressure?
