The Trouble with Boundaries

Most of us on a path of personal growth and transformation have learned our lessons about setting boundaries. We've discovered that, in our misguided attempts to garner appreciation and win others' approval, we've said "yes" to far too many things and have confused or depleted ourselves. Without boundaries, it seems we lose ourselves in the day-to-day demands on our time and attention.

And so we learn, finally, to say No! And we relish the freedom that opens up when we do, recognizing we have possibilities for nourishment, growth and learning that were obscured by all of our Yes's to other people. It's a truly liberating experience.

And yet...what often happens is we associate that liberation with the No rather than with our choice to say No. We want to protect that feeling of freedom and liberation, so we cling staunchly to our No. The No becomes a boundary, and the one thing most of us do with boudaries is we defend them. And defending anything requires energy, so the more rigidly we defend our No, the less energy we have for our Yes.

That's why I have come to see that, as helpful and essential as it is to learn to say No when we mean No, it is not helpful to see that No as a boundary. Boundaries create separation, and separation leads to isolation, misunderstanding and skepticism. Hardly the qualites we want to cultivate on a path of expanding consciousness!

Here is how it might look: a friend asks you, for the umpteenth time, to join her at a meeting sponsored by a multi-level marketing company. She is genuinely enthused about the company's product and her decision to distribute it, and is encouraged by the company to recruit as many customers and distributors as she can. You have absolutely no interest in the product or in becoming a distributor, but you have great love for your friend. You are thrilled that she is so happy - and you have no desire to attend one of the company's meetings.

In your boundary-less past you may have agreed, grudgingly, to attend the meeting with her so as not to hurt her feelings. And you would sit through it impatiently, thinking all the while of the many productive things you could be doing if you weren't wasting your time on that hard folding chair in a drafty hotel ballroom. You would hurry out at the first opportunity, telling your friend you'd call her later. And then of course, you would have to tell her then that you simply weren't interested. You would still have to say No.

Fast-forward to the brave new world of setting boundaries. In this scenario you boldly - almost defiantly - say No right away when your friend invites you to the meeting. But you still feel badly about saying it. There are all kinds of thoughts going on inside, things such as, "I wish she would just quit asking me so I wouldn't have to say No!" or "I hope I'm not letting her down. I wish I could be a better friend." Notice that these kinds of thoughts are judgments, either of her or of yourself. Judgments always feel bad, and they always separate. It is because of the judgment that we think we need the boundary. We are defending ourselves against being taken advantage of, either by the friend (whom we've judged as insensitive) or by ourselves (whom we've judged as a pushover). We draw the line to protect ourselves from unsavory outcomes, and we must defend that line at all costs.

In the absence of judgment, we wouldn't need a boundary. We would simply need to make a choice. We would recognize our friend's earnest desire to share her enthusiasm with us, and we'd also recognize that her path is not our path. And so our choice would be to say No, but we would do so with an open heart.

This "open-hearted No" calls on a simple yet profound shift in orientation: one in which we see the No not as a boundary, but as an expression of our Truth. And that, fundamentally, is why it is so liberating, because truth really does set us free. From this perspective the No is really a Yes - a Yes to honesty and a Yes to self-care. We choose not to participate in the specific activity, but we bless our friend and wish her great success. We hold a clear intention to love our friend and to love ourselves. In the example we've been examining here, the open-hearted No might sound something like, "I am so happy that you love selling this product, yet it's just not something I feel at all called to do. I hope you understand."

Will this guarantee that your friend's feelings won't be hurt? No, it won't. But not speaking your truth will guarantee that intimacy and trust will be diminished between the two of you. So instead of setting - and defending - boundaries, hold an intention to connect with and speak your truth, moment to moment. Sometimes that will be a Yes, sometimes a No. But remember that your freedom arises from the freshness of the choice that reflects your authentic needs, your willingness and your energy. Your liberation lies in your Truth, spoken with kindness and clarity.

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

On Thursday evening of this past week I attended an awards dinner hosted by the Delaware Press Association. And I'm delighted to share with you that I won a first-place award, for the second year in row, for my column in Living.Well magazine. (I also discovered I'd won an "honorable mention" award for another piece I'd submitted - happy surprise!) The dinner was lovely, the speaker was truly inspiring, and I had a welcome opportunity to connect with my fellow writers at the magazine. As we were called forward one by one to receive our certificates, the judges' comments about each winning entry were read aloud. I was honored and humbled by their kind and generous words about my writing. As you can imagine, it was a wonderful evening and I floated home on a cloud of contentment.

Once home I opened the envelopes that contained copies of all the entries I'd submitted along with the entry forms on which the judges had recorded their comments. I reread the comments about my first-place column, basking in the glow of appreciation. Then I noticed an envelope I hadn't opened - the one that contained my book, which had not won an award. I pulled the book and judge's comments out of the envelope and began reading. My glow vanished and was quickly replaced by a heavy, dank cloud of anger and shame as I read the damning words. This particular judge - unlike the one who had offered such rich and affirming comments about my column - did not like my writing. At all. Words and phrases such as, "...fails to live up to its potential..."  "...amorphous..."   "...readers will be confused or put off..."   "...New Age jargon..." floated off the page and assaulted me with their acrid smell. The review was lengthy and unkind, and suddenly I had difficulty breathing.

I stared in numb disbelief at the comments. After an initial puff of anger and disdain I fell headlong into self-doubt. My God, maybe my book is just terrible and I should stop promoting it immediately! I'm probably embarrassing myself personally and professionally and queering any chance I might have of successfully publishing my second book! In a blinding instant I went from feeling affirmed and confident in my work to believing that I was a certain failure. I would have to rethink everything, it seemed, since clearly I couldn't succeed on this path.

A little current of energy zapped me out of my paralzying malaise - anger again, tinged with a familiar self-righteousness. I began an inner debate with the judge, defending my skill and my choices and proving how wrong he was, how obtuse! I challenged his comments one by one, trying to satisfy myself that they were completely without merit. I didn't quite succeed.

Throughout this personal drama a part of me remained apart, watching. She is the wise one, and she knew that my reactions were coming from ego. She let me rant and rave and call home for a little comfort, but then she gently reminded me that I had some work to do. I had to find the learning and the healing in this situation, and she was ready to guide me through it. I decided to let her take charge.

She asked me gently to remind myself what I know is true about all painful situations. I took several deep breaths and said what I've said countless times to my clients: "This is an opportunity to love yourself more deeply." The wise me knows that hurt can only be felt when we turn away from love, and so I vowed to turn toward love. And with just that simple inner choice I began to feel more at peace. But there was more to do.

From this new perspective I read the comments again. In all honesty they baffled me. They just didn't make sense. Which is not to say that I believe there is no room for improvement in my book - there is plenty. I've got a laundry list of inner criticisms about it, but none of the judge's comments mirrored my own. They seemed illogical to me, and I realized that my writing seemed that way to him. We simply didn't understand each other.

As I sat with the comments a bit longer, I was able to experience them as a whole. When I stopped challenging each statement one by one, what emerged was a complete picture of his confusion, especially with the book's title. The book is called, 10 Ways to Find Peace Rather Than Panic (When the World Has Gone a Little Crazy), and I realized that he'd been expecting a how-to guide, a step-by-step instruction manual that leads one from panic to peace. But the book I wrote doesn't offer that; it offers ten perspectives we can hold as we navigate the unknown, which are intended to suggest different ways of relating to our fear and different priorities for making choices as we move through transitions in life. It is not so much a how-to book as a how-not-to-book: a book about how not to cave into fear.

And so I found the merit in his comments, a possible source of his confusion and an important consideration as I develop titles for future books and articles. (Coming up with great titles has always been a challenge for me!) That may not be the merit he wanted me to find - he may have wanted me to agree that I'm a terrible writer. But I have a choice about what I take from this situation, and this is where the opportunity to love myself more deeply comes sharply into focus. Am I going to let another person's opinion of my writing distract me from my soul's longings to teach and write? Or am I going to let them strengthen my commitment instead?

I choose the latter. I realize I have a long way to go before I master the art of writing, yet it is the journey itself that enlivens me. And the only way I can develop mastery of writing is...to write! So I will continue to write, to practice, to sharpen my skills. I will continue to blog! And I will continue working on my next book. And I hope you'll continue reading.

It's funny, as I was contemplating this post the phrase "thick skin" came to mind. We are often told that in order to be successful, we need to develop a thick skin so that others' criticisms don't derail us. And while I can understand how that perspective originated, I think it's misguided. We don't need thick skin, for thick skin is a barrier to connection and engagement. What we need is a greater depth of compassion for ourselves and others, a willingness to see our work - and their criticism - in the highest light. And to know that criticism can never degrade the true brilliance of our soul.