Boundaries. Again. Because we (I) still struggle to set them...

I don't know about you but no matter how much I recognize the value in and need for boundaries, I still struggle. Years and years of being a pleaser has made "sure, I can do that" or "that's okay" my reflexive response to pretty much anything. You didn't have time to do that one thing I asked you to do? "That's okay." You need me to finish up a job for you? "Sure, I can do that."

Just this morning, I agreed to pay $40 at the dentist for a fluoride treatment that I kinda think is a gimmick because I wanted to be agreeable. Dammit, right? 

I'm getting better. I'm learning to build in a pause before I respond. Though it almost pains me, I now (mostly!) say, "let me think about that" when I'm being asked to do something that I'm not sure I want to. Too often, I don't know what I feel about something until I sit with it. My desire to please others remains, in the moment, stronger than my desire to please myself. But if I give myself that moment, if I allow myself time to check in with myself, then I remember: My job is to keep myself safe and my relationships free of resentment. And I can't do that when I'm agreeing to things that are disagreeable to me, or when I'm letting people off the hook for letting me down.

And so, here we are again: Boundaries.

Let's revisit what boundaries are not:

People think boundaries are a wall or moat around your heart, but they’re not

~Brené Brown

So what are they?

Good boundaries are a drawbridge to self-respect.

~also Brené Brown

Put another way, boundaries are about behaviours, not people. 

Put another, another way: Our problem isn't with the people in our lives, necessarily. It's with what they are/are not doing. And when we keep our focus on their behaviour and not on them personally, it's a lot easier to understand how to keep ourselves safe and to have the necessary conversation. These people can still be welcome in our lives but we can put limits on what we will and will not tolerate from them.

What's more, boundaries can change. What feels unacceptable to you right now (going to your husband's company BBQ because he cheated with his assistant) might feel acceptable in a year, or two, or three. In my case, I put limits on how often I saw my husband's family after D-Day. I found them critical and cruel and I decided I no longer would put myself through that. With time, I was able to see them more often while still respecting my limitations.

Boundaries confuse a lot of people because they feel dictatorial. Or selfish. But let's let Brené Brown's words be our guide. They are not a wall or a moat, they are a drawbridge to our self-respect. What do you need to be respectful of ourselves? 

•People may not _______________ (For me: People may not lie to me or be dishonest by omission)

•I have a right to ask for ________ (I have a right to ask for honesty)

• It’s okay for me to _______________ (It’s okay for me to say no to things I don't want to do or to take time to figure out what I want to do)

What might you add? I have the right to ask for...what I need to heal (counselling, a separation, a babysitter for time away). People may not...consistently be late. It's okay for me to...prioritize my needs.

It's hard if you don't have a lot of practice. And far too many of us have spent a lifetime squelching our own wants and needs to the point that we often can't identify what ours are. What makes me happy? Well, when everyone else is happy. Sad, huh? 

But, I'm learning. Slowly. But I'm learning. 

Stay tuned for a post on consequences. What they are and what they're not. Inspired by a Twitter conversation!

 

When Life Intrudes

 I have been largely absent from this site for a week or more, and only sporadically engaged since the winter holidays. I am sorry for all those who have found themselves here, seeking guidance or advice only to be met with silence. I tell myself that the telling of our own stories is healing in itself but so is the comfort that comes from someone saying, "you're among friends. Welcome. You will be okay."

And so let me tell all of you, "you're among friends. Welcome. You will be okay."

It is the truth.

The last time I was this busy was in the weeks before D-Day. I was finishing up a book and organizing a massive fundraiser (we raised $75,000 in one night!!). I had three young kids and a husband who had just moved firms and was working around the clock with his clients. What I didn't yet know, but would find out soon, was that it wasn't all work. He and his assistant were taking time for sex. 

D-Day hit, my book got finished in a fog, D-Day #2 hit and my mother died suddenly, literally the day before my book hit the shelves and I had umpteen media interviews to do. It all happened in six months and when I look back, I remember little more than the emptiness I felt, interspersed with such biting pain that I could barely breathe.

But here I am. Still breathing.

And, again, busy in that same way where there doesn't seem to be enough hours in the day. 

So perhaps it's not surprising that old feelings are surfacing. Resentment at how responsible I am for so much around this house. Quiet fury at how little my work is prioritized among family members. Fear that the opportunities now presenting themselves will vanish before I can fully seize them. There is no question that opportunities that presented themselves in the wake of D-Day were lost because I simply didn't have the mental or emotional bandwidth to grab them. 

That was then, I tell myself. This is now.

True.

I have to remember all the lessons I've learned in the years since. I'm resentful for how much responsibility I take in this house? Well? Whose fault is that? My 20-year-old is capable of folding his own laundry so why am I doing it? My 17-year-old will not starve if I'm not reminding her to eat. Taking "responsibility" for others is really about my own anxiety. It's about control and my (unhealthy) need for it. "Help is the sunny side of control," my former therapist insisted.

I feel furious that I'm interrupted during Zoom meetings, or that I'm asked to "pick up milk" during the day, as if I don't have better, important things to do? Well? Whose fault is that? Why should I expect family members to prioritize my work when I've never prioritized my work? I have always always taken on the lion's share of tasks because it's more comfortable to me to feel resentful at others' lack of participation in household tasks than to ask and be disappointed. Far easier (and familiar!) for me to play the martyr. I need to feel needed because, on a deep level, I believe my value lies only in what I do for others. Ugh. 

And so I remind myself again, that was then. This is now.

I can do things differently. I can stop taking responsibility for things that others can do themselves. I can breathe through the anxiety as I let others deal with the consequences of their own actions. I can prioritize my own work and model self-respect rather than expecting others to mind-read. I can remind myself that have value because I exist, not because I serve.

I can do things differently. Without behaving like I'm some kind of martyr. Being honest with myself and them.

Life is challenging right now. Five adults living together on month 11 of a pandemic lockdown. Five very busy adults trying to navigate school and a growing workload. Serious mental health issues. A new puppy. 

And it's when we're under stress that old habits can resurface. Long-buried resentments. Barely suppressed fury.

I need to be careful that I'm not falling into old patterns.

That was then.

This is now.

Tiger Mom

I interrupted a conversation between my two elder children on the weekend. And by "conversation", I mean bitch session. The person they were bitching about was me. And so, before they realized I was there, I was privy to some of their current complaints about me. Most of it was garden-variety teen stuff, annoyed because they were expected to undertake such Herculean feats as put their dishes in the dishwasher, their dirty clothes in the laundry, their coats to their cubbies.

But then my daughter said something that ignited my fury. "She's so passive," she said to her brother. 

Forgetting for the moment that my alleged passivity seemed in direct contradiction to their complaints about how demanding I was, there some something about that particular word that haunted me for the remainder of the weekend. 

I simmered.

I boiled.

But I knew what she was referring to. She had told me a couple of days earlier that she thinks I let my son – her brother – off the hook too easily. She thinks she follows our rules to the letter while he doesn't. And that there are no consequences for his transgressions. 

But what really kept me at a barely suppressed rage all weekend?

I wondered if she was right.

Do I hide my distaste for conflict behind being a chill mom? Do I avoid doling out consequences because I prefer peace? 

Gulp.

Yes, sometimes I do. And not just for her brother but for her too. For her younger sister. For my husband. For, well, pretty much everybody.

I've talked on this site about my visceral response to others' anger, the knot that quickly forms in my stomach at the first sign of conflict. 

Passive?

Ugh.

I prefer easy-going. Flexible. Reasonable.

We breed our worst critics, a friend said to me recently. Yep. Sometimes our most accurate ones.

"Passive" stings. But it's a reminder that my daughter is watching as my boundaries, which should be inviolable, become open to negotiation. She's watching as I let it slide that my son returned my car without refuelling. Or that I mutter under my breath as I put away the sandwich maker – the one she was using – rather than call her back to the kitchen.

It gets exhausting, doesn't it? This constant citing of transgressions. This policing of others' disregard.

And yet...

If I don't take the time and energy to remind people that I deserve courtesy and consideration, too, that my rules are not, actually, open to negotiation, then I can hardly complain when my boundaries are violated, right? If I'm not going to insist on them, well, then, they mustn't matter too much.

Except that they do. 

And when I mutter under my breath rather than point out that the gas tank wasn't filled or the sandwich maker put away, that frustration gets stashed. And, eventually, like this morning, I blow. 

Boy, did I blow.

I told my son that if he brings the car home again without refuelling, he will not have access to it for a week. I told my daughter that if she leaves kitchen appliances on the counter again, she will have to do all the dishes for a week. My son also lost his phone for 48 hours for refusing to keep his music off when he showered and others were going to sleep.

It will probably be a constant struggle for me to pay attention to when I'm being treated like I don't matter. My passivity, which I dress up as flexibility or easygoingness, will no doubt surface again.

Passive? This tiger has been awakened.

For today, at least.

Turns Out My Idiot Husband Isn't the Idiot. I Am.

I came thisclose to walking away from my marriage this past weekend. A bit surprising, for sure. Two days ago, things were fine.
But over dinner Saturday night, with my family and friend of my son gathered around the table, talk turned to the various #MeToo allegations. We discussed a well-known movie star, beloved by so many, including us. "Did more than one woman accuse him?" my husband asked.
In a movie version of that moment, there would be a pause. The camera would pan to my face, my 20-year-old daughter's face. And then the stricken face of my husband who realized what he'd said too late.
We piled on.
He doubled down.
What, to me, was an important discussion about the way we talk about sexual harassment and assault was, to him, lecturing and attacking.
He was still furious the next day.
Which infuriated me.
He told me he was sick of being lectured by me, that he said nothing wrong. I tried to explain to him the frustration of a lifetime of moments where I'd been silenced, where I'd felt threatened, and including a night when I'd been sexually assaulted. "Does that only count if there's an army of women who can confirm I'm telling the truth?" I demanded.
We talked about privilege. He – get this – honestly doesn't think that, as a white man who grew up as a 1 percenter, that he's had privilege. Though he admitted, "I've just never thought about it."
"Not having to think about it is the definition of privilege," I said.
I walked away frustrated. My thoughts went something like this:
I can't believe I'm married to this idiot. How can anyone be so UN-self-aware? What am I doing with him? We clearly don't share a value system. And so on.
I quickly moved to plotting my escape. The kids were getting older. I could easily leave the marriage. Imagine how great it would be to be with a man who listened, who didn't get defensive, who wasn't blind to his own privilege, who was a true feminist.
In the meantime, my husband has put the leashes on our two dogs and gone for a walk. I vaguely imagined that he, too, was plotting his escape from this marriage.
And then, he came home.
"Can I talk to you?" he asked, ducking into an empty bedroom so that the ears of our children, my father, and various of our kids' friends couldn't overhear.
I was still fuming but fear was growing in my belly. What if he really was going to tell me he wanted out?
"I"m sorry," he said. "I'm trying to understand what you're telling me but I don't. But, really, I'm trying."
And with that, my anger (almost) vanished.
My mind, having swung wildly in the direction of he's an idiot found equilibrium somewhere closer to the he's human part of the spectrum.
And, well, I hadn't exactly conducted myself with compassion or a genuine curiosity about his point of view, preferring instead of bludgeon him into acquiescence.
All of which is to say, all I've ever really needed in a relationship is someone who's willing to try and hear my point of view. And, I suppose, someone to call me out when my own behaviour could use a makeover.
He and I have come a long way but this weekend reminded me that, when tensions are high and self-regulation is low (I had been feeling resentful all last week about all the preparation I've been doing for houseguests we have coming, which is a sure sign that I'm violating my own boundaries and not practicing enough self-care), we'll too often fall back into our old, unhealthy patterns of engagement. Me chastising, him defending. My the mother, him the errant child.
Thanks to his ability to step out of that pattern, to examine it and to come to me as a mature adult, we got ourselves back on track.
So, I won't be leaving my husband after all.

Boundaries Are About You. Just You.

I recently had one of those "a-ha moments" reading an e-mail that quoted Brené Brown's wise words on boundaries. That they are simply "what is okay and what is not okay."
And what I suddenly realized is that the missing words are "for you." And that, my soul-warriors, is what trips us up. Too often we think that our boundaries are not only what is okay and what is not okay but that others need to agree with us about what is okay and what is not okay.
And so we get talked out of our boundaries.
It might go something like this: It is not okay for my chronically late friend to keep me waiting. Next time it happens, I'm going to give her five minutes and then I'm going to leave and go on with my day. 
We set our boundary. It is not okay to keep me waiting. If we're feeling super-mature, we tell our friend: If you are late again, I'm going to wait five minutes and then I'm going to leave.
And then this happens: Our friend gets defensive. Our friend tells us how busy she is. Our friend insists that she's rarely late. Our friend reminds us of the time we were late. Our friend suggests that a true friend accepts others just as they are. And so on.
Or, just as we're leaving, our friend arrives breathless and sees us with our coat on and our purse and our keys in hand. I got caught in traffic, she says. Or I got stuck at work. The babysitter was late. Why are you in such a hurry? What are you being so hard on me? I suppose you're never late? And so on.
And our boundaries, that felt so firm, suddenly feel squishy. They feel selfish. They feel awful. And the critic in our head starts up: You're not perfect so what gives you the right to be so hard on others? You've been late before. What makes your time more valuable than theirs. And so on.
What felt so simple and so clear – What is okay and what is not okay – is reframed in our own heads as selfish and rigid.
And, then, for many of us, we give in. Or we at least get into a discussion, as if our boundaries were negotiable.
They're not.
What is okay and what is not okay is not negotiable. They are our boundaries. Their purpose is to keep us emotionally and physically safe. What's more, they keep a relationship healthy. They keep us free of resentment, that poison that seeps into the cracks of a relationship and makes it toxic.
You know the feeling. The one where you've been talked out of your boundaries and so you sit back down with your late friend but you're seething with resentment as she chatters on about her life. Or you agree with your husband that you're being hard on him by insisting that he sleep on the couch when, really, all he did was have a lunch meeting with a woman in his office, who's actually old and unattractive and he would never ever cheat on you again anyway so why are you making such a big deal about this. And while he's congratulating himself on convincing you that it wasn't such a big deal after all, you're fuming because you feel violated, yet again, and you feel that you've betrayed yourself, yet again.
Yep, that feeling.
And that's the thing with boundaries. They are about self-care. They are about self-respect. Those who can't see that – who instead make it their mission to convince us that our boundaries are negotiable – aren't interested in respecting us. What they want is to control us. To keep us pliable. To keep us doubting.
Remember: Boundaries are what is okay and what is not okay. You get to decide for yourself. And it doesn't matter if anyone else agrees with you. Your boundaries might shift over time but they should shift only because you've decided to shift them, not because someone else has demanded that you do. For one person, being kept waiting is not okay. For another, time is a relative construct. There is no right and wrong. There is only what is okay and not okay for you.

An apology is an action, not a word

"There is no apology without an acknowledgement of the pain you've caused and making amends for it." ~Brené Brown

I bet many of you have heard, "I'm sorry". The words might have been spit at you. They might have come with tears. They might have come with the additional plea that "you have to believe me."
But I'm here to tell you something about those words. They are meaningless if they are not accompanied by a genuine acknowledgement of the pain he caused you (and the whole family, whether or not they're aware of what he did). They are meaningless if they are not accompanied by a plan to make amends.
That's where a lot of these "I'm sorry"s fall apart.
When you ask him to accompany you to therapy.
When you ask for access to his phone, his computer, his e-mail history.
When you ask him to stop going out with the boys, to stop drinking, to stop flirting.
When you ask him to unfriend ex-girlfriends on Facebook.
In other words, if he isn't backing up his "I'm sorry" with full-throated support of your needs and absolute respect for your boundaries, then his "I'm sorry" isn't worth a damn.
Which means neither is he.

Let's Crowdsource Some Consequences

Yesterday's post has been getting some great response and it has been great how some of you, especially Ann, have offered clarity. But I know how hard this can be, especially after infidelity when the stakes feel so high.
So I thought it would make sense if we shared some situations that have us muddled and then crowdsourced responses. 
I gave the example of how I've always hated my husband's temper. Because of my own "stuff", his temper triggered in me a lot of fear and I would respond either by trying to convince him not to be angry (which is disrespectful to him and his feelings. Sometimes he had legitimate reasons to be frustrated or angry) or by getting angry back at him. So something as innocuous as him being angry at a broken dishwasher would escalate into a fight. Our kids would be there listening, it was completely counterproductive and I hated it.
So...my therapist at the time asked me why I stayed in the house when he started ranting and raving. Why did I stay? Well...what choice did I have? "You can leave," she said. I was stunned. Never dawned on me that I could just...walk away. So I told my husband: I find your temper frightening and it scares the kids. You need to learn to control it. Until you do, I will leave the house with the kids any time you can't control your temper.
Now, and this is important, my husband didn't think his temper was bad. He grew up with a raging father so, relatively speaking, my husband thought his temper was mild. 
But IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT HE THINKS. My feelings matter. And his temper was creating stress and fear in me. And my partner should care about that.
So...next time my husband lost his temper (and I can't recall what it was about -- something silly), I packed up the kids and left for ice cream. Kids were delighted to get ice cream, it was clear that one adult in the family would keep them safe, and my husband was left. He muttered about how he "hardly" got mad. But he also sought help through taking a meditation class. He still has a quick temper. And I know that it's when he feels powerless and frustrated. But that doesn't matter. I can empathize with the feelings behind his behaviour while still not tolerating the behaviour. And because I can't control HIS actions, I have to control my own.
By leaving. By refusing to stay in a house with someone who can't respect me or our kids enough to control his temper.
So that's one example. 
Please...share your own. And share the situations that baffle you and let's help you find your way through them. 

What are boundaries and why do I need them?

Any regular visitor to this site knows that I (and some other BWCers) tend to bang on about "boundaries". As in, "you need to set clear boundaries", "this is a chance to make some boundaries", "he's not respecting your boundaries" and so on. And yet, before I found myself spilling my life story to a therapist and learning from her about boundaries, I wouldn't have had a clue what boundaries were. And Lord knows, they weren't part of my life tool kit.
Here's what Oxford has to say about boundaries: 

A limit of something abstract, especially a subject or sphere of activity:a community without class or political boundaries

Here's what Brené Brown says about setting boundaries:

Daring to set boundaries is about having the courage to love ourselves, even when we risk disappointing others. 

From our first definition, we're told that boundaries are abstract. They're the metaphorical line we draw around ourselves to keep ourselves safe. Or rather, they're the metaphorical line we need to draw around ourselves to keep ourselves safe. Most of us don't have that line, or we've been socialized to let people cross it all the time. And rather than enforce it, we swallow our resentment or chastise ourselves for being selfish. Sometimes, we don't even realize it's happening because it's been so long since we had boundaries. But hold on...I'm getting ahead of myself.

What do I mean by "safe"? Boundaries are those lines we create, often subconsciously or by modelling those around us when we're growing up, that allow us to feel safe in this world. They're the lines that, when crossed, make us feel uneasy or threatened. A friend asks to "borrow" our doll but we don't trust her to return it (or we simply don't feel like loaning our doll) so we tell her 'no'. That's a boundary. A parent breaks a promise to take us for ice cream and then tells us to stop being so selfish with our whining because he/she was busy making money to put food on the table. Instead of swallowing our disappointment, we express it in straightforward words. 'I feel disappointed when you don't keep your promises.' That's a boundary. A boyfriend tells us he'd like to take our best friend to a dance because we're out of town. We say 'no, that makes me uncomfortable.' That's a boundary.
Thing is, most of us violate our own boundaries. And, over time, we forget we ever had any.
And so we're still up at midnight baking cookies for a child's class party. We're rescheduling an important meeting because our husband won't stay home with a sick child. We're getting our car back from our teen and the gas tank is empty.
Or...We find out our husband has cheated on us and begging for a second chance. But...he doesn't want to share the details of the affair or the phone passwords because it's a violation of his privacy.
Boundaries.
Our boundaries need to be in place in order to keep us safe.
Our boundaries make it clear that we respect and love ourselves enough to draw clear lines about what we will and will not tolerate in our lives.
Our boundaries make the conditions for reconciliation unequivocal. There's no room for misunderstanding or misinterpretation.
Our boundaries generally include the following:
•There is to be absolutely no contact with affair partner going forward. A letter/text/whatever to that effect is to be sent with the wife copied on it. It needs to state, in no uncertain terms, that the relationship is over, there is regret for having had one in the first place, and that there will be no contact in the future. Full stop.
•If the affair partner tries to re-establish contact, the betraying spouse will immediately tell the betrayed spouse. He will not respond. He will not keep any secrets for the affair partner.
•The betraying partner will provide any/all passwords so that the betrayed partner can check and verify when desired that there is no contact. We know this is hardly perfect (we're not idiots; we know about disposable cell phones, secret e-mails, etc.) but it helps in re-establishing any sort of trust.
•We expect that our questions (asked as respectfully as possible given that we're fighting the urge to bash our husbands over the heads with a shovel) will be answered with full honesty. We have the right to know the full contents of our partner's hearts in order to determine what we're dealing with and how we might respond.
•The betraying partner will be tested to ensure he doesn't have any STDs.
That's the initial list. You can certainly add your own, which might include "no more out-of-town meetings until trust is re-established." Once you get in touch with what you need to feel safe (or safer, as safety will feel relative in the early days post D-Day), you'll be able to establish your own.
As time goes on and we begin to heal from this betrayal, boundaries continue to keep us safe. They allow us to keep that toxic "friend" at arm's length even though she urges more contact. They allow us to say 'no' to commitments that drain us, physically and emotionally. They allow us to reconnect with a basic self-respect that far too many of us have lost. Boundaries are about self-care, not selfishness, and don't let anyone convince you otherwise.
Brown's caveat is crucial to remember: We need to enforce our boundaries even when doing so might disappoint (or frustrate) others. Remember this because if you're not a longtime boundary setter, you are absolutely going to get pushback. You'll get pleading (oh c'mon, we really need you right now. It won't take long...), you'll get anger or aggression (I thought you were my friend but clearly you're not), you'll get sulking (whatever. Do what you want. I don't care). Recognize this as simply the actions of people invested in keeping your boundaries fuzzy, or non-existent. Stick to your boundaries anyway. It will feel sooooooo uncomfortable. You'll feel sweaty. And anxious. Do it anyway. Your head will pound with the sound of your unfamiliar words. Do it anyway. You'll feel terrified that you're going to be left. Do it anyway. People who only stay with you because you make it easy aren't worthy enough for you.
Boundaries aren't about manipulation. They're not about control or getting even or hurting others. They're about NOT hurting yourself. They're about ensuring that all your relationships are free of resentment because you're not doing anything or putting up with anything that makes you resentful.
And if they're not in your toolbox, you need to add them. They're critical to your future happiness.

Guest Blog: B is for Boundaries

by Merri


Growing up, boundaries in my family were usually expressed as something applied through objects.  "That's my cookie! Give it back," or "Don't wear those pants," were typical of the kinds of boundaries we expressed.

When it came to family intimacy, boundaries were commands with some personal message thrown in, usually barked-out by a more powerful parent. "Be nice to you sister or I'll send you to your room. I've got a headache."

The choice was to either buy into the boundary or be tossed out of the game. Parental needs were considered first and a child's specific need was not seen as important unless it served the parent. There was little room for discussion.

Which is why marrying a man with even fewer personal boundaries than I had was not a stretch for me...in fact it felt pretty comfortable. We both hated the rigid do-as-I-say thing and the feeling we were both invisible and/or powerless in a relationship. I longed for equal status and a voice in my own life, he longed for peace and an evening without getting clobbered.  We believed that having no real boundaries would get us there.

A relationship without boundaries brings lots of emotional flexibility into the dynamic – not to mention ambiguity. This quiet collusion we built felt like trust...because heck, we never challenged the thinking going on...we just trusted it. This loose framework helped both of us believe everything was always fine, and allowed us to build a big fantasy world where life was always good. Quietly sucking up any pain (or maybe drowning it with Scotch) was a private, individual activity to be done in brief moments of personal freedom. Finding "self" moments became a frantic game of cat-and-mouse – with a touch of guilt thrown in if discovered. Personal doubts festered and grew alongside negative behaviour we usually disclosed to outsiders.

Living a fantasy is not sustainable. I often felt like I was driving down the highway backwards, pretending the joy ride was fun, swallowing my fear.  When the crisis came to a head, I first  tried to use boundaries as my concrete line drawn in the sand in an attempt to prevent disaster from happening and keep myself safe. 


As time went on, I learned boundaries were more empowering when used daily to help me define who I was, especially to myself. It was a way to show self-respect. With few boundaries ever stated in my marriage, I realized how much I  floundered and second guessed every decision, or passively accepted my fate. In the end, I felt invisible to myself and enmeshed with my mate. The end of the marriage meant having to kill off at least half, if not most of me...and then try to rebuild.

I learned slowly it's okay to express needs and state limits but to remain flexible in changing or evaluating. Real intimacy and personal growth are validated through the boundaries we set. I wish I had discovered this news-to-me fact years ago...but hey, it's never too late to learn. I’m still a work in progress.
--