Boundaries

It’s an important growth step to be able to say “This is who I am and what I need.”

I’ve lived in places where fences were really important, not just to designate property lines and keep pesky neighbors at bay, but to provide actual physical safety. When I lived in the Arctic, a tall snow fence surrounded the village, to help shield us from the snows that blew straight into the village from the north pole. Those fences looked flimsy, but they really worked; while we still got pummeled with snow, of course, the fences prevented and corralled the more significant drifts that could swallow houses. And, when I lived in a tent for a summer in rural interior Alaska, my tent area was surrounded by a solar powered electric bear fence. We were so remote and deep in bear country out there that those fences helped provide a layer of security against unwanted bear encounters. I saw many bears that summer, but thanks to that fence, none of the sightings occurred inside my tent. At night, when I was in bed in my tent, distant from any other human and without a gun, I could relax into the snuggle pile on my cot with my dog and my two kitties more completely because I knew that fence was there, keeping bears from curiously coming to explore and maybe wreaking some havoc in the midst. I am grateful for both of those fences.

I’ve come to believe that fences are a super important part of a well-constructed life. I’m not talking about external fences here, though, but rather internal ones: boundaries. Boundaries aren’t sexy or romantic to talk about. It’s a word that elicits cringes and eye-rolls and deep (sarcastic) sighs as the term becomes a tiny bit trendy. But the value of boundaries can’t be over-estimated, especially when it comes to the wild, rambling terrain of relationships.

I sometimes think of a boundary as being like that line police officers draw on the sidewalk around a body, to designate where the body was found after a murder. I know, it’s a macabre image, but bear with me. That line designates the periphery of space that body required, and with our personal boundaries (while we’re alive), it’s the same: it’s how we say “this is the line I need around myself; this is the space my body is entitled to exist in.”

Having a personal boundary is helpful for two reasons. It’s like staking a claim over the space—physical, mental, emotional, psychological—that we need to exist in, which in itself is valuable. It’s an important growth step to be able to say “This is who I am and what I need.” And, having a boundary also allows us to see when, or if, another person crosses it. It seems obvious, but when there’s no boundary, it’s easier to let another person—or thing, like a job—encroach upon us and drain us of something vital, like our time, our energy, our attention.

Last spring, as we went into lockdown and my husband began working from home, my alone time disappeared. For a few weeks, I was cranky about it, and then I realized I needed a boundary, some way to preserve some time, energy, and space for myself each day. We had an old table in our garage, and I set it up next to the garage, at the top of our yard and made myself an outdoor writing space. (See photo.) And I told my husband that I needed to spend mornings out there, in that space, by myself. I asked for what I needed, and he happily honored my need. Our yard is miniscule. The table is rickety. Nothing about this was fancy. It was a tiny thing, but it made a huge difference as we transitioned into being in our house together 24/7. And it was another reminder for me about how empowering it can feel to ask for what we need, and how good it feels when others agree to honor our need.

As we’re faced with the opportunity now to let things back into our lives that we’ve excluded for over a year, it’s worth getting clear and conscious about what things we truly want to bring back in, and what things we want to keep out. What boundaries might we need to draw to protect the new space we want to hold for ourselves?