Border Security
One psychological term that gets thrown around a lot is “boundaries.” Everyone seems to agree that it’s good to have clear boundaries, and a problem if you don’t, but what does that even mean?
On the simplest level, boundaries are the demarcation between where one person ends and the other begins. Physically, they’re obvious, unless you’re a Siamese twin--but relationally, they can be tricky. Where do my thoughts, assumptions and attributions end and your actual motivations and intentions begin? Sometimes it’s hard to say.
I like to use a definition that’s more about safety and connection. For me, a healthy boundary is the distance at which we are separate enough from each other to safely be close to each other.
Confused yet?
Let’s take a couple of hypothetical examples. Imagine, for a minute, that you had the perfect childhood. You were loved, cared for and accepted by all the important people in your life. You were surrounded by safe, nurturing, loving relationships. You were challenged, but those challenges allowed you to test your abilities and gain confidence and grit. Most importantly, your fundamental worth as a human being was never in question--it was reaffirmed at every turn. Now, as an adult, you have a strong sense of self. You have faith that most people are well-meaning, and that you can connect with them. When someone disagrees with you or criticizes you, it causes you to reflect and reassess, but it doesn’t shake your core understanding of who you are, or undermine your important relationships. From this foundation, you build a life filled with strong, intimate connections.
Now consider the opposite example. Imagine that your childhood was a constant gauntlet of neglect, uncertainty and emotional abuse. From an early age, you were unloved, and that ultimately led you to believe, on an unconscious level, that you were unlovable. Now, as an adult, every relationship feels like a high stakes gamble. You begin with a desperate hope that some person will fill the gaping hole in your psyche with genuine love and affection, but deep down, you don’t believe it’s possible. And sooner or later, when friction or disagreement arises, it only serves to confirm your deepest fears. They never really loved you. They are betraying and oppressing you, just like everyone else. So you lash out at the ones you love, like a frightened animal who bites the hand that would feed it. You drive away everyone but the ones who have as much emotional pain as you have, and the cycle just keeps repeating itself.
In these two examples, we can see how boundaries create security, and security allows intimacy. If you have a clear sense of yourself, and a belief in your worth as a human being, the actions and opinions of others are less likely to throw you off balance. Your solidity allows you to safely get close to others, and to experience intimacy without fear.
On the other hand, if you look to your relationships to confirm or deny the hypothesis that you are unworthy of love, your very right to exist hangs on every interaction. A hesitation, a sideways glance, a raised eyebrow--you are defenseless against these incursions, and they constantly threaten your security. Your borders are completely permeable, and anyone can cross them at will.
Most of us live our lives somewhere between these two extremes, but we slide back and forth along this continuum depending on the circumstances. Sometimes we feel confident, whole, and strong. Sometimes we feel unworthy, fragile, and afraid. The conditions of our childhoods determine where we start, but our boundaries are never permanently secured. It’s always a work in progress.
So, the next time you feel betrayed or oppressed by someone you love, step back and ask yourself this question: where do they end, and I begin? How much of this drama is being written now, here on the stage we share, and how much of it was written long ago, when someone or something told me that I wasn’t worthy of love?
