I've Chosen My Hill
When I think about boundaries, I think of barriers, guard towers, customs agents. They’re a little nerve-wracking, if only because I’m always convinced I’ve lost my passport. And sometimes they’re patrolled by men with rifles. I have to remember that the interpersonal kind are gentler; less wall and more cushion.
Setting boundaries with people is not something I was taught. Being pleasant, letting things go; that was my family’s style. My father was seemingly impervious to the opinions of others. My mother was a proponent of the, “Can’t we all just get along?” school of ignoring the obvious.
My mother was an only child, my father the adored older brother to a single sister. Sibling wars weren’t something they understood. And certainly not something they handled very well.
It would never have occurred to them to encourage me to tell my sister how it made me feel when she teased and belittled me, or for her to calmly express her annoyance at… my existence? My lack of fealty? Of course, I tended to express my feelings at such a high volume that no one could hear them anyway.
An explosive youngest, a cunning oldest; it’s no wonder there were fireworks. The surprise is that no one thought to bring a bucket of water. It was all, “Don’t burn your fingers!” and then waiting for regret to set in.
Usually I set boundaries with people without telling them. I figure out what I’m comfortable with and I stick to that. Maybe it’s phone calls and very few in-person visits. I might meet them out for dinner, but never at one of our homes. Once I’ve figured out what works it’s not hard at all.
And when I’m done, I’m done. I love this about myself; I’m sure other people are less enamored, but once I’ve determined that being in a relationship with you isn’t good for me, I’m willing to call it.
It’s a lot more complicated to hold the line with family members, especially when your family is ridiculously small. One aunt, no cousins. It’s embarrassing, really. My paternal grandfather was one of seven. How did our branch of the tree thin out so quickly?
My sister and I started having problems 50 years ago. In the past couple of decades I’ve been telling people we get along well, but that statement has a lot of unspoken caveats.
We get along because I’m careful not to disagree with her. We get along because I hide the parts of my life she wouldn’t understand or approve of. Honestly, we get along because even though I could unquestionably take her in a cage fight I’m still scared of her.
I’m 58 years old, and very aware that my clock is winding down. I’ve worked damned hard at boundaries over the past few years, because I’m thoroughly uninterested in making room for people who make me feel bad.
But god, or whomever, has that famous sense of humor.
I’ve been congratulating myself on curating my social circle, and just now realize that I’ve had an enormous blind spot for decades. It’s like I forgot to paint one wall of the house; the front and sides are a gorgeous deep blue, but the back is still that ugly beige. And it took me years to notice, because I’m always admiring the front, with its painstakingly cultivated curb appeal.
The truth is, it’s easy to get stuck in a mask of your own making. I decided to be pleasant, not to argue. I shut that seven year old up pretty damned effectively. She’d have been so disappointed. She was determined to be seen and heard. Not that I’m not outspoken; there are just a few nooks and crannies left in my life in which I’d clearly rather go along to get along.
But this sibling thing. I’ve had enough. This is the hill I will die on, if it comes to that. I will hold this boundary like my kids are right behind me and the redcoats are coming, bayonets fixed.
I will not explain myself because I no longer need validation. I’m not interested in getting along. I’m going to be me, full out, ready or not.