Archives for posts with tag: healthy boundaries

It is a rainy morning. It wasn’t raining when I left the house, but it clearly had been. It is raining now, as I sit parked at the trailhead, waiting for a break in the rain. Sort of. I’m less waiting than taking time to write and meditate before I walk. Seems likely to be a poor morning for sitting quietly along the trail. 😆

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

Some long while ago I made a note to myself about the perplexing puzzle (for me) that is boundary setting:

Every boundary we set, however healthy, is an obstacle to the person being advised they may be encroaching on a boundary. That’s just real. It is what it is. We either set healthy boundaries – and respect those ourselves – or the world walks over us.

I made that note years ago on a scrap of paper that I later tucked between the pages of the book I was reading at the time. It was a meaningful and relevant observation in that moment; the boundary I was setting was simply that I was reading and did not wish to be interrupted for chit-chat by my then partner (now ex). I found the note recently, while moving things around on bookshelves, when it slid to the floor, a reminder from a past version of myself that this has been a challenge for me for a long time. Brain damage, cPTSD, and a lifetime of anxiety-driven “people pleasing” mingling to form a persistent bit of chaos and damage. It’s been difficult to “fix” while living it.

I’m grateful that my Traveling Partner is aware of (and alert for) this problematic bit of code in my operating system. He is quick to take note if I am exhausting myself trying to tackle every casual request in an instant, or frustrating myself by walking over my own reasonable boundaries. He reminds me to put myself first, often, and to practice good self-care. He respects clearly set boundaries with genial acceptance. But… The boundary setting is mine to do. It’s up to me to manage my boundaries, to respect them myself, to provide kind reminders when needed – before I’m frustrated, before resentment develops, before I might become likely to snap at someone I care about. It’s basic communication. I have to do the verbs. I find boundary setting uncomfortable. This is one small part of the legacy of trauma and abuse that I’m still dragging with me through life.

Working on this crap is hard, not gonna lie about that, but protecting and nurturing healthy agency is worth the effort required, and I’ve got a partner who truly enjoys me at my whole, healthy, and sane best, even when I set a boundary. I’m much better with boundaries these days, and finding the scrap of paper with the note written on it (from sometime before 2010) is a meaningful reminder that this is something I’ve had to work at for a long time.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Basic communication skills are something human primates still have to work at to develop those fully. We’re not born as great communicators. We learn as we go. We practice what works – and sometimes what works in the context of trauma and unhealthy family dynamics is not at all healthy, nor particularly functional, outside that dynamic, in the larger world. I still struggle with some of this. Still dragging along some unnecessary baggage. I sigh to myself and imagine setting down a heavy suitcase with busted wheels, scuffed and worn and shabby looking. I imagine letting a heavy backpack slide from my shoulders to the ground. I visualize unpacking them both, and chuckle to myself because this thought exercise actually gives me a real feeling of relief in the moment.

I have no native talent for communication. I work at building my skills in this area – and have done so for years (with considerable success), and I practice what I learn about healthy communication. I improve over time. I’ll continue to work at it until it feels easy and natural. That seems like a better choice than continuing to endure being poor at basic communication. 😆 I have choices. I make choices. I practice. I improve over time.

How many times have I stood in this place, and faced my limitations aware that I have so much further to go? Doesn’t matter at all. The journey is the destination. We become what we practice. Incremental change over time is an effective approach to changing who I am and becoming who I most want to be.

I notice that the rain has stopped. I grab my cane and my rain poncho, and begin again. This is my path. Walking it requires me to do the verbs. 😄

Roads end. I mean, I guess they do, at some point, even this one, although it doesn’t appear to end here. That’s just the name of this place, “Road’s End”. It’s a small state park at the edge of the shore, with a trail down to the beach. I am here, listening to the sound of wind and waves (and some asshole with their car radio on loud enough to be heard, which I could do without).

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

The view from Road’s End

I definitely need this time alone. I don’t get much solitude as things are, and my Traveling Partner was encouraging to the point of being willing to find me a suitable hotel and book a room for me. (I was going to make it a day trip and call it good enough.) I felt very loved, and excited to enjoy the day on the coast, and a night of solitary fun, reading, writing, and meditating.

A small bird. A moment.

This morning is different. At least for now I am neither merry nor at peace with myself. Instead I’m wrestling demons. It’s fine. Part of life with cPTSD and brain damage, I guess, and in spite of some 30 years in and out of therapy of one sort or another, I still deal with the chaos and damage. I’m not surprised by that, though I am dismayed, disappointed, and even sometimes despairing over it when shit blows up over some little thing, or I disgrace myself by losing my temper or hurting someone I care about with thoughtless words or actions. I do my best, I still fail. This is human.

… It’s also human when it’s someone else having a moment. It is important to forgive, and to make room for people to grow through experience. We’re each having our own experience…

So I’m sitting here at Road’s End, thinking my thoughts. Thinking about endings and beginnings, and change, and trying to be grateful for the solitude I am fortunate to enjoy. I need this time to myself, it meets needs I struggle to meet without the quiet of solitude. I do wish I were enjoying it on other terms than these but feeling mired in my bullshit, I’m glad to be alone with that.

… But is the sky still blue?

What matters most? I sit with the question for a little while, on a fence rail looking out at the sea. The sound of ocean waves reaching the shore and the sea breezes used to be enough to drown out my tinnitus. Now there is a high pitched whine that I still hear, but only on the left side. I frown, momentarily distracted from my thoughts. I hope it’s nothing serious.

I’m thinking about my “baggage”. Not the carefully packed weekend bag I slid onto the seat of the car. I mean “my baggage”. It’s a figure of speech that is so apt it’s easy to forget it is metaphorical. No matter where I go, no matter what relationship I’m in, I drag my bullshit along with me. Baggage. I’ve made so many changes, and I have grown and improved my thinking and behavior so much over the years, but at any moment I may yet again be standing in the middle of my pile of carefully crafted custom matched set of baggage I still lug around with me, somehow only partially unpacked even after all these years. It’s super annoying. Frustrating. Discouraging.

Beginnings. Endings. Practice.

We become what we practice. We choose what we practice. It is important to choose wisely and stay focused on who we most want to be, because if we choose poorly, we may become someone else entirely.

I sit feeling the breeze and watching the horizon. My head is filled with ghosts and regrets. Weird morning to have them turn up and demand attention. My skill with choosing relationships has been poor: a violent psychopath, a manipulative slacker looking for a meal ticket, a cruel woman who delighted in gaslighting me, an assortment of lovers who may have lacked any explicit bad intentions but found value in my limited capacity to understand that I was being taken advantage of… Then there’s my Traveling Partner. One good relationship in a lifetime of trauma and chaos, but the opportunity came late in life, and I still find myself picking metaphorical shards of past damage out of new emotional wounds. I find myself apologizing a lot. That’s got to wear thin after awhile. It still matters, and I keep practicing.

I sit by the sea feeling the breeze, and the weight of all the many mistakes I have made over 16 years with this singular human being. I wonder if he does the same thing, when he finds that he’s hurt me without intending to. Neither of us are perfect beings of pure love and empathy. I feel confident neither of us would hurt the other intentionally. That’s not who we are. We are, however, quite human. I sigh to myself and let it go, at least for the moment. I remind myself that self-care matters, and in solitude there is no excuse to treat myself as second best, ever. I left rather abruptly this morning, instead of enjoying a leisurely coffee with my beloved. Coffee and some healthy calories would be good…

… The descent into madness often begins with poor self-care and low blood sugar…

I guess I should begin again. I don’t know where this path leads…

Sometimes the path isn’t an easy one.

I was complaining yesterday about my early morning “me time” being interrupted and trying to communicate the way that has potential to undermine my self-care, generally. I didn’t recognize it at the time, but I did get through to my Traveling Partner, who was subsequently very considerate about my time this morning, although he is excited to talk about a tool he’d like to have and a choice opportunity to obtain it that developed last night. I feel very loved and “heard”. I remind myself to say so and express my appreciation.

… This morning I overslept…

I headed to the nearby local trail I favor, for my morning walk, just in case I may later be driving a distance for a tool. Love is funny like that; I’d do most anything to see my partner smile, even drive a long way on a short weekend, to look at a tool.

… Funny thing… I got to the trailhead ahead of the sun, eager for a peaceful satisfying walk with my thoughts… Humans. Shit. Two vehicles parked askew in my usual spot. I don’t own it, so… Shit happens, eh? Public place. I park on the other side of the parking lot and start meditating as I wait for the sun. One vehicle starts it engine and idles awhile. (Are you kidding me!?) It’s a biiig Cummins diesel with a nasty whine to it. Fucking loud. It’s hard to meditate. Or think. Fucking noisy humans. Finally. The truck drives away. Minutes later the aggressively well-cared for sports car that was parked alongside the truck starts it’s engine, high beams shining in my eye, and idles awhile. (Are you fucking kidding me with this rude-ass bullshit?! What the hell?) I sigh irritably and wait it out. They leave, too, and I’m finally alone with the stillness of morning… until another early riser shows up, parks right next to me, and begins unloading dogs to walk the trail, too. FFS. G’damn it. Life is clearly teaching me a lesson this morning.

It’s not quite daybreak and she walks away, with her headlamp on. Damn that’s a lot of dogs for so early in the morning. lol

I move my car over to my preferred parking spot. No bright streetlight overhead, better view of the treeline on the far side of the meadow. I begin again.

It’s a new day. Enjoy it.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sit quietly with my thoughts. I meditate while I wait for the sun. I wonder about the day ahead while I lace up my boots and grab my cane. Change is. Our expectations are not the reality. The map is not the world. We’re each walking our own mile and having our own experience. Circumstances are what they are; how we understand them, and what we feel and think and choose to do are within our control. We have choices. Results may vary. The journey is the destination.

There’s enough light now to see the trail ahead, until it turns the bend into the darkness among the trees. It’s definitely time to begin again – this path won’t walk itself. 😀

I find one of the most difficult (and worthwhile) practices to be refraining from taking things personally. It’s so easy to bask in the glow of a lovely compliment and take that to heart… but… the same person telling you that you’re awesome yesterday could very well be calling you a fucking bitch when they see you next week. That’s about them.

If I let myself become invested in some other person’s opinion of me to the point that it becomes self-defining, I’m likely to end up constantly spun up every time they change their opinion in some moment of joy – or anger. That doesn’t sound particularly healthy, at all. Using another example; if taken personally, shit talk from another room could be a huge mood wrecker and potentially a source of conflict. Avoid taking that personally, and it’s simply that other person dealing with their own emotions (however well or poorly, which is a separate concern). I’m not saying it’s easy to avoid taking shit personally, at all, I’m just saying its a worthwhile practice. So – I keep practicing.

…An insult is like any poison; it only affects you if it gets into your system. Don’t drink the poison.

Human primates are messy and sometimes unpleasant to deal with. Doesn’t matter if it’s that guy over there, or the person in the mirror – we’ve all got “issues”. Making a point of letting that other person’s issues be their own (and not letting them also become yours) is a good step toward feeling centered and calm, even when there’s a bit of chaos about. It’s also easier to focus on and deal with your own issues if you’re not all wound up in someone else’s moment. It’s one useful thing about being individuals; you can let that person be who they are, let them have their moment, and go right ahead and work on you while they do. Non-attachment is another useful-but-also-difficult practice. I take a deep breath and let it out.

I sip my coffee. The day started early, and less than ideally well. I got up, dressed, and went directly to work. I’m not in a good mood, and just dealing with that is taking quite a lot of my focus and effort. I had my day planned differently, but circumstances often don’t check my calendar. lol Later this morning, I’ll attempt to make the drive to a town nearby to get some lab work done that has been delayed by the inclement weather. I’ll return movie rentals on my way back. Maybe take a package to the post office. All of this is dependent on the condition the road is in, later in the morning. I admit – I’d very much like to get out of the house for awhile. I’m feeling a bit cooped up, and it’s exhausting trying to keep up on work, the housekeeping I usually do, and handle the tasks and chores my partner typically handles, while also doing things to support and care for him while he recovers from being injured. It’s a lot. I’m fucking tired. I’m tired enough that it limits my ability to graciously deal with stress or moments of temper, and since we’re both human primates, there’s reliably a bit of that now and then. I could do better. I keep practicing.

…There’s a lot of practicing going on this morning…

I sigh. Continue to drink my coffee. I could use some real “down time”. My last “coastal getaway” was mostly spent working, and was done primarily with the intention of giving my Traveling Partner time alone to work on a project – neither of us anticipated that he’d get hurt and be both unable to work on that project at that time, but also have to shelve it for weeks while he recovered. I came home from a getaway that provided little down time at all, to increased workload and increased stress with few opportunities to get away from either because I was needed right here at home to provide my partner with care because he just couldn’t get around to do basic tasks for himself. I’m exhausted, and I’m very much yearning for some time to myself to just exist on my own terms for some brief period of time without being constantly aware of the fairly long list of things I still haven’t gotten to that need doing. It’s called “self-care” for a reason; you’ve got to do it yourself, for yourself. I’m betting my Traveling Partner would enjoy a couple days without my constant presence, himself… I remind myself to ask, and to check-in on whether he thinks he is in sufficiently good shape to take care of himself without me for a couple days.

In the wintry months, camping is not an ideal option for me, personally. I don’t care for sleeping on the ground in cold weather, and it worsens my arthritis significantly to do so. Instead, I count on an inexpensive room on the coast, near trails and beaches I enjoy walking. I check to see what the availability is like over the next couple of weekends, and spot a potential opportunity. Just taking the steps to check out my options reduces my stress some little bit; I “feel heard” by the person I reliably need to be listening to me (me). I breathe. Exhale. Relax. Sip my coffee. Repeat. I think about other things I can do to ease my stress and restore my energy and plan my day with those things in mind. The weather seems to be improving somewhat, and the ice is melting… handy. I could use a walk. 😀

I make a short list of the more urgent items to attend to today, so I don’t forget them… I immediately feel overwhelmed when I add “put away your laundry” to the list; I’ve been putting off actually completing that task for literally weeks. It’s one task I can shrug off without really affecting anyone else, but… it does add to the chaos in my living space, and that increases my stress. There’s an obvious cycle to that, and breaking it requires me to hang up a bunch of shirts and tops, which is physically painful and also tedious. That’s it. That’s the “big deal” and I keep dodging it. Fucking hell. And the dishes need doing, which vexes me endlessly because as soon as they’re done, I cook something or fetch my Traveling Partner a snack and there are more fucking dishes. Cycles upon cycles.

…One task at a time…

I look at the time, and my inbox. It’s already time to begin again.