Boundaries: You Own Your Emotions

So, this topic is embarrassing. I'm gonna sneak up to it by talking about something parallel in a kind of clinical manner and then LAUNCHING myself sideways into the actual topic.

Years ago I discovered that I was an Eight on the enneagram, which means that I tend toward black-and-white thinking, crave intensity, like to challenge people and ideas, and want to be strong. Eights also prefer to avoid weakness/vulnerability.

I always had a little bit of an...atypical Eight streak though, which confused me and made me question if I really was an Eight. I also didn't think that "avoiding vulnerability" was THAT big of a deal to me. I did avoid being vulnerable, but it wasn't, like, MY NUMBER ONE PRIORITY or anything.

Then I started therapy, and *steeples fingers together and peers at you over eyeglasses* it turns out it IS my number one priority. Turns out Gabe and Cassidy were right. Turns out virtually all of my other priorities are anti-vulnerability in disguise. I was actually uncomfortable with how obvious this seemed to my therapist. She began saying things like "...your favorite word, 'vulnerable'" or "Do you think this stems from your struggle with vulnerability?"

Miraculously, I still really love my therapist.

*LAUNCHES SELF SIDEWAYS*

So when I read Boundaries and found that I had been outsourcing my emotional regulation, I was, in a word, mortified.

On an average week, pre-Boundaries, I would lie on the couch at least four out of seven evenings being on my phone, and waiting for Gabe or Aaron or Cassidy to rescue me from the sadness that swallowed me the moment I wasn't engaged with another person. I literally just existed in a gray fog of lonely boredom or bored loneliness and waited for someone to notice and save me. If they didn't notice, it was because they didn't care about me or they'd finally gotten sick of me or they were happier without me or I was unloveable.

How f*#$%&@ embarrassing.

Boundaries makes the point that other peoples' emotions are not your responsibility—and the other side of that coin is that your emotions are not their responsibility. Other people cannot MAKE you angry, or sad, or happy unless you give them permission—no matter what the professional guilt-trippers say you're doing to them. Eleanor Roosevelt was right: "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."

The day after reading that truth-bomb, I was lying on the couch as usual, and felt the lonely sadness lay itself over me.

My emotions are my responsibility. It is not anyone else's JOB to notice and fix me.

No one need to be coming to save me. If I was going to become happier, I had to do something.

And you know what? Weight. Lifted. Off.

How can it possibly be FREEING to be saddled with more responsibility? And yet, it didn't feel like being saddled with responsibility, it felt like EMPOWERMENT.

First of all, how stupid is this. Second of all, it felt so NICE not to be stuck waiting for someone else to move. (Not that I was ever stuck; that was a lie I don't even remember telling myself.) It felt so nice for my emotions to be in my own hands. It felt like getting your driver's license or moving out or breaking up with someone terrible.

You know what I did? I got off the couch, made myself a snack, and settled in to watch TV on my laptop. I looked myself in the face and said, "Stop it. No one needs to save you."

I can't even describe how freeing this revelation was. One moment I was feeling like a weak little bitch, and the next I was feeling like Wonder Woman.

Now, I struggle with depression, and some people REALLY struggle with depression. I'm absolutely not arguing that you can cure depression if you "just stop being sad." But those lonely-couch-save-me moments were not depression. Actually, I was struggling with boundary issues. I had drawn my boundary lines in a place that made me powerless and others responsible for something that fell on my own property.

If my husband or friends notice that I'm sad, is it kind for them to try to cheer me up? Sure. But it's a kindness, not a responsibility.

It is no one's job but mine to make me happy.

And damn, does that feel good.

~ Stephanie

Boundaries: The Laziness Breakthrough

(Honestly, I don't even know how I plan to make this a whole post, because it was literally one moment of thought, but here we go.)

I've blogged before about how in my childhood I internalized a lie about myself: that I am lazy.

Gabe, bless him, has been trying for years to convince me that I'm not, but that false belief about myself has been welded onto my soul. It didn't seem to matter how many times Gabe told me I wasn't lazy, or got other people to corroborate the fact that I wasn't, or had me say out loud that I am not lazy. All of it was just water off a duck's back. None of sank in.

That's a weird human quirk, isn't it? That we can know something isn't true, but still...believe it. Still not be able to shake it. It makes me feel kind of crazy. Why are there parts of my mind that I can't access? How can part of me be so independent of my thoughts and intentions? Therapy has been great, but even that hadn't managed to get a meeting with the part of my brain that "knew" I was lazy.

A few weeks ago, I read the book Boundaries. One of my favorite things about the book is that it gives a list of things that are within your boundaries. If you're going to draw boundaries to keep other people from encroaching on your business, that necessarily implies that some things are your business. I plan to blog specifically about that later, but today, it's that simple fact that I want to highlight.

Some things are not your responsibility; some things are. You decide what to say yes to. You decide how you want to spend your time and energy. You decide what you can take on in a healthy manner.

So. The laziness breakthrough.

I was watching a YouTube video, and the creator talked about turning your passions into a business.

"Although you can't do that," my brain grumbled at itself. "Because you're too lazy."

Out of nowhere, this neutral, unemotional head voice said, "You're not lazy. That's just not within your boundaries right now."

Dismissed. No anger. No judgment. No nothing, really, just a wave of a mental hand that said, "No. Not true" and left it there.

I physically froze.

There was no guilt. The crushing sense of judgement I usually feel when confronted with something I "could" (which my brain automatically translates to "should") do was utterly absent.

I felt no weight. It was a giant mental shrug. It was the acknowledgement that yes, I could turn my passions into a business—if I assessed my boundaries and decided that that was within my healthy limits. It currently wasn't, and that was perfectly fine.

I wasn't lazy. I'm NOT lazy. Some things are within my healthy boundaries right now, and some things aren't. As I grow and seasons change, I'll examine my boundaries and see if they should be shifted. There is no glory in doing something I can't do healthily.

And that's it. THAT'S the truth. THAT'S what truth feels like.

I'm not lazy. And do you know what's WILD?

It feels like part of me has known that all along, and it's smiling, glad that the rest of me has finally caught up. I'm gonna guess that that part of me is the Holy Spirit, who will not violate our boundaries, but allows us to do the good work that is ours to do.

(Would you look a that. I did make a post out of one moment of thought XD)

~ Stephanie

Boundaries: Intro

We've had the book Boundaries on our shelf for about six years now, purchased at the suggestion of a friend. However, until two weeks ago, neither Gabe nor I had read it.

I've been really struggling over the last year (to be honest, I feel like all I've done since about the fall of 2019 is "struggle"). The whole time, I knew that some of my struggles had to do with the concept of boundaries. On the way home from church a couple of weeks ago, Gabe threw out that maybe I should read that Boundaries book we had.

"I mean, I can," I said. "I can't imagine what it's going to say that I don't already know: having boundaries is healthy, even for Christians; other peoples' emotions aren't your responsibility; saying 'no' doesn't make you a bad person, et cetera."

But I must have been feeling especially open-hearted that day, because I actually started reading the book.

It said all of the things I knew it would, and honestly didn't have a TON of completely new ideas (though the "Boundaries and God" section was brand-new to me). But the nuances it presented and the practical steps and checklists opened my eyes in a way that felt like transforming a black-and-white knowledge into a full-color understanding. Just reading the book felt like breathing more easily and walking with less weight. The book gave me sanctioned, Christian, Bible-verse-backed permission to own my life. It gave me permission to do what I've been wanting to do, but thought was...wrong? Selfish? Hurtful to others?

It's wild that a book about boundaries—limits—can make you feel so free.

I'm going to be doing a lot of work on this for a while. I don't know exactly what's going to look like, but I know two things for sure:

1) I'm going to be saying No a lot for a while. "No" is going to be my default, until I heal enough to give a heartfelt "Yes." I don't know how long that will be, but probably longer than we would all like.

2) I'm going to be blogging about this, because writing is how I do my best thinking.

So far, these are the posts I plan to write.

Boundaries:
- Boundaries: The Laziness Breakthrough
- Boundaries: You Own Your Emotions
- Boundaries: Letting Your Yes Be Yes
- Boundaries: It Takes a Village
- Boundaries and Fe: A Match Made in Hell

I really hope you buy the buy the book (and don't wait six years to read it), which is why I've linked it in like three places already. I think it might be a game changer, and who doesn't want their game changed*?

~ Stephanie

* Wait, maybe there are people who don't want their game changed? *stares off into space thinking about that* Huh. Well, read the book anyway.

One of the Inherent Dangers

I didn't mean to write a main character so like myself.

Of course, when I first wrote the Fire Faery Story, I did; the FF Story started out as a fantasy story starring me and my friends, ages 8–12. (Dear heavens. Actual children.) But when I rewrote the story at age eighteen, the characters became characters. I needed different personalities for the story, and—let's face it—there are major hazards to writing a story about actual people in your life. My main character also became a character, though there were shades of Young Stephanie in her.

When I rewrote the story again at age twenty-seven, Ember remained a character. Sure, I put some shared quirks in there (we both take promises too seriously, we both wear crop tops), she loves to dance, and she'd rather be angry than sad, but she was different from me. I had matured beyond the things that plagued her. If anything, she was a really young, slightly alternate-reality version of me. A bolder version. A less empathetic version.

*steeples fingers together and looks deeply into the camera*

As it turns out, that may not be quite true. Apparently my subconscious has been clawing its way to the forefront for the last seventeen years, kicking and shrieking, and it's only been in the last year that I cocked my head and frowned and said to myself, "Hang on. Do you hear something?"

It's not that Ember and I are the same person. She really is a younger, bolder, and less empathetic person than I am. But we share some fundamental similarities that I never knew about myself. Her relationship with romance, her general MO (ready, fire, aim), and her use of anger as energy have slowly been creeping up on me. My unrelenting drive to work on the story even when the wise thing to do would be to stop, ponder, and recalibrate bears uncanny resemblance to the way Ember pursues her goals when there is literally no way for her to succeed until she takes the time to acquire the necessary skills.

I've lost track of the number of times that I've been thinking about the story and grunted out an, "Oh," from the gut punch of walking face-first into a mirror.

On one hand, how freakin' cool. How convenient to learn about my subconscious in a literal way. Like when Ember does X, I can see that it's because of Y, and then see how that translates to my real life. (What I do with this information is unclear so far. But I guess being aware of problems is the first step.)

On the other hand, this means that if something is a genuine blindspot for Ember, odds are it's a genuine blindspot for me. Which means I can be three years into a rewrite and one year into Aaron saying, "Okay but what's Ember's growth arc?" and still not understand what he's asking.

I mean, yes, I want a dynamic character; I don't want to my main character to be static. But I thought her character growth could be, like, going from a dancer to a dancer and a fighter. She learns some new skills. She learns how she feels about different characters. Maybe she even questions some beliefs she's always held.

But I reread this one scene last week. It's a scene near the beginning where Ember is filled with a deep rage that makes her bones vibrate and changes the entire purpose of her life. I felt good about the passage when I wrote it. It rang true. It felt strong enough for the situation. I let that rage be the virtue—yeah, virtue—that drives Ember forward and carries her through completing the climax.

But when I reread this scene last week, it made me feel kind of cold and sick. That's not...heroic. That feels...gross.

That kind of rage feels like something a character needs to grow away from. I can't write a story where the main character's anger isn't addressed, where we don't come to that time-honored conclusion alongside her that revenge doesn't heal you*.

I didn't realize that that's what was happening, because Ember didn't realize that that's what was happening. She felt good about her anger. She was using it as a tool, which...you can do. But there are consequences. It doesn't just work like that without doing some damage. Anger and arrogance don't just magically deliver you correct answers and victory. That's not a true story.

Now, part of what's happening is that the story is a trilogy—Ember will have matured a lot by the end of Book 3—but I think she needs to come around at least a little bit in Book 1. It's wild to me that I couldn't see that something was wrong until now.

But, as Aaron said, "This is one of the inherent dangers of self-inserts."

To which I replied what I still say now, "I didn't mean to do it."

~Stephanie

* The story doesn't overtly tout anger as a virtue or imply that revenge heals you—and the story does have other true, positive messages—but it doesn't overtly debunk those ideas either. I think I'd like to debunk them on purpose.

Stand Up for the Strong Kids

Princess Diaries came out in 2001, but I’m guessing the VHS didn’t come out until 2002 probably, which means I was eight years old when I saw the Krystal Harris “Supergirl” music video. I loved how antithetical its vibe was to the other music video on the tape, Myra’s “Miracles Happen.” Krystal had spiky hair and heavy eyeliner and kind of headbanged when she played the piano.

There was also a line in the song that resonated with me. This might’ve been the first time I related to lyrics. The chorus says, “I’m supergirl, and I’m here to save the world, but I wanna know: who’s gonna save me?” The next iteration is, "I'm supergirl, and I'm here to save the world, but I wanna know why I feel so alone."

I remember staring at the TV screen with a mix of excitement, elation, and...some other emotion I can't name. I think it's in the Frustration Family. (Gabe helps me categorize emotions when I can't name them so that we can at least narrow it down.)

I confided this feeling to an adult. "I love that song because that's how I feel," I said, emitting mostly excitement and elation. (Maybe the other emotion is actually in the Sadness Family?) "I feel like I'm supergirl, but there's no one who's gonna save me."

The adult gave a disinterested "huh" and looked at me like I'd grown a horn by choice, like I was too ignorant and unwise even to be considered cute for the sentiment. The adult didn't ask why I felt that way. Her reaction made me feel stupid for confiding in her, and stupid for feeling the way I did. I mean, I was a kid. How presumptuous of me to assume I was doing anything heavy or heroic in my little life. I guessed I must been misperceiving my experiences.

But I did feel that way. I felt like I was strong and stood up for people a lot, but whenever I was lonely or persecuted, people just kind of watched it happen, unwilling or unable to step in.

When I got older, I was told that this is because I come off like I don't need any help. People assume that helping me would be an insult, or they worry that I might perceive it as such. Hearing that gave me mixed feelings as much as the "Supergirl" lyrics did.

On the one hand, HA. People are RIGHT. I DON'T need any help. If I have a problem with someone or something, I can and will handle it. Your support is icing on the cake, if that.

On the other hand...like, damn, I'm tired. Could people just do it anyway, maybe push through the fear that I might misinterpret their support?

I have a few memories of straight up asking people to stand up for me, but I always seemed to pick the wrong people, people who were only able to stick up for me in a passive aggressive, apologetic, submissive, barely-a-step-above-just-rolling-over-for-the-oppressor way, which I found worse than nothing.

I also remember the people who stuck up for me the "right" way, without being asked. Meredith Andrews, you're on the list 💚 

This post definitely isn't meant to throw shade at everyone I've ever known for assuming I'm a strong, capable person XD I appreciate that—and I genuinely like being one of the Supergirls in my sphere. I can't imagine getting tired of being an advocate for the people I love. It's something I'm good at and enjoy doing.

I think this post is more about the little eight-year-old me, who was already feeling the ambivalence of being "the strong one" in her life, and the dismissal that happened when I shared that feeling. I've talked about this before (here and sort of here too), but I believe it's so important to take kids and teenagers seriously. Maybe there's a place for disillusioning them, but only after you've validated their feelings*. Only after you've asked questions and listened and tried to understand. If you want kids and teenagers to come to you with big stuff, listen to the small stuff, because—to them—it's all been big stuff.

Oh, and stand up for the strong kids too. We're tired.

~Stephanie

* and I mean "validate." A post on "truth versus validity" is in my drafts to be finished one day.