The Intersection of Belonging & Boundaries
In a New Yorker article, The Rise of Therapy-Speak, Katy Waldman reflects on the increase in “Instagram therapy.” In her article she says, “We joke about our coping mechanisms, codependent relationships, and avoidant attachment styles. We practice self-care and shun ‘toxic’ acquaintances.” I fully agree, and also feel a surge of defensiveness, because isn’t that how I have started seeing others and the world?
For most of my teenage years, I did not have a single boundary. I agreed to whatever anyone else wanted or needed from me, I didn’t say no to anyone, there were definitely red flags that I looked right past, and I did have people in my life who could be labeled as “toxic” — or at least, the relationship was very unhealthy.
When I started going to therapy in my early twenties, I began labeling my actions, taking attachment style quizzes, and letting go of friendships that drained me. This was all very good for me! When 2020 hit, I was knee-dip in practicing toxic (there’s that word again) New Age spirituality, listening to as many self-help podcasts as I could as I worked from home with nothing else to do, and reading man-bro self-help books like The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck, and as many other books with the word fuck in the title as I could get my hands on.
While self-help books and podcasts, knowing your enneagram number (I’m a two, thank you very much), and knowing you have a fearful-avoidant attachment that stems from your rocky upbringing and emotionally immature parent (I may be speaking from my own perspective here) can all be helpful tools in knowing yourself better and providing better care for yourself, it also is on the precipice of a slippery slope.
At the end of 2021, I discovered that I was autistic, and part of that integration of the self I didn’t understand until that point included boundaries and lots of them. As I navigated my sensory processing disorder and the extreme feelings of overwhelm that would often lead to meltdowns and/or shut-downs if left unattended, it meant that I had to prioritize myself at the top of my list in a way that felt very foreign to me. I learned how to sit with the discomfort of knowing that I was disappointing others by saying no or needing accommodations — and boy, was there a lot of discomfort.
This all provided me with the language of expressing my needs, and the courage to do it. However, a year later, at the very end of 2022, I began to realize that my boundaries had become too rigid, and I was seeking a level of control of my surroundings that was unrealistic, and ultimately left me feeling even more dysregulated.
I started a new medication and found new ways to meet my needs that were less black and white, I began to feel incredible relief. I began to focus on belonging. My whole life, I never felt like I belonged. As I got older, I began to see all those in my life who did love me for me, but I needed to open my eyes — and heart — in order to let them in.
In 2023, “belonging” became my core value, from which I made my decisions from. What I love about the word belonging is that it is not the same as community or relationships: it is a deep sense of being welcomed and wanted in a group of people, but also with yourself and the natural world around you. If you want to learn more about belonging, I highly recommend the work of Becca Piastrelli and Sarah Wildeman. Through aligning myself with this word (and the magic of Lexapro), I began to allow my needs to be met not only through rigid self-care or through my partner alone, but through my connection to meaningful friendships. I was able to shift my perspective of others to accept them more for who they really are, and I was able to build a value in myself that I am always there for those I love, no matter what.
And, as you may have guessed, even though this gave me so much compassion and connection, I also began to feel burnt out and resentful. “I am always there for her, and she can never be there when I need her,” I started to think more times than I want to admit. I started pushing past the feeling of being drained when I spent time with certain people, telling myself that I owed it to them to be there when they wanted me. After all, community and belonging were my values, so this was the least I could do.
I went from having rigid boundaries to having boundaries that were almost non-existent, yet again. I built serious relationships with people I frankly didn’t much want to be in relationship with. I over gave from a place I can now see was me trying to secure my lovability — and unfortunately, people usually do like me most when I am stretched too thin in a way they can benefit from. I went from needing people to liking me, declaring that I didn’t give a fuck what others thought of me (a great self-help book I definitely would have read in 2020), to working my ass off for people to need me, and therefore, I reasoned, love me.
Right now, I feel the urge to swing back to the other side of the pendulum: to get out my weed whacker and cut away at relationships I deem “toxic,” to whip out my headphones and listen to a podcast that will tell me what is wrong with me at 1.5x speed, and seclude myself in hours of journal-filled isolation. However, I am trying to settle into the in-between space, the space where I can prioritize belonging with others and myself. The space where community matters, and so do boundaries. The space where I can commit to my loved ones unconditionally and decide to step away from certain relationships and commitments that I simply do not enjoy.
I think this space can best be defined by the elusive word integrity. So, for now, I am going to focus on integrity: staying true to myself, my values, my needs, and my loved ones, and figuring out a way to find balance.
