Holding My Line: On Boundaries, Respect, and Self-Preservation
We can be strong where we are
I did not want to write today. This in itself dragged me down, down deep, deeper still to a pitch-dark place. I always want to write, I have to, in fact.
I had to sit and think of why.
The why involved a bad chest cough, a feeling of being stuck, seeing pinpoints of light, and being unable to move towards them.
Then there are the days—these days—the chaos of these days, the chaos of the headlines, the pain, the uncertainty, the grim meanness of the hurt, hurting others. I’m trying to find beauty in the in-between, beauty in-between the apathy I see.
The one thing that gave me hope is the wave of empathy that has come washing down to help those in need in LA after the devastating fires—pictures of the charred devastation it left still constrict my soul. Elected officials in various states stand up for those in need, standing up and fighting against illegal and unconstitutional Executive actions. There are strands of hope out there. There are bright boundary lines that brave, empathetic, kind people are holding firm.
Then, there is what happened last night.
My wife and I held firm on a boundary. It was necessary, but I felt a heart-hammering rage that I had to repeat myself so many times and use such a sharp tone—a tone that is not at all my default.
A relative had brought over pop rocks to share with our boys. My partner and I were not crazy about all the sugar and untold chemicals it would deliver directly to their bloodstream. Our boys would be getting ready for bed in the next thirty to forty-five minutes. Our toddler tried a little bit of it and didn’t love it. We all moved on. Not that relative. She turned to our six-month-old and gave him said pop rocks. We told her we were not okay with that. She shrugged us off and did it again. My wife told her to stop. Again, she didn’t.
Earlier, I felt myself getting angrier, so I left for the living room to calm down. When I heard her ignoring my wife and our boundaries and yelling at her, I came back and, in a pointed tone, told her that she needed to honor the limits we set, period. This was our kid, and if we said “no,” we meant “no.”
When I held her gaze and was rigid with anger, she stopped and backed down. I felt my heart piston forward at increasing speed.
I went upstairs and took deep shaky breaths.
I asked myself the same question again and again. What makes this person feel they have the right to trample all over our boundaries, to the point that it takes both of us, both parents, pointedly telling her to stop before she will? What about her life, her upbringing, and her past make such a stance feel natural, second nature to her?
It had me spinning.
My wife came up and gently suggested that, although she understood where I was coming from, my tone was too sharp, and I should consider apologizing. While I felt that I was doing my best to keep myself in check. My tone could have been a lot sharper. What galled me was her blithe dismissal of us as parents in our own homes with our children. I told her, I would think about it; it was the best I could do.
The takeaway. What is the takeaway? Hold your boundary, hold it firm. It is a boundary for a reason. You know your life, what is healthy for you and your loved ones, and what feels safe for all of you.
Then afterward, and I think this is the most important part, refill your tank, and regain your equilibrium. Breathe. Leave the space, watch something, listen to something, read something, play something, that brings you joy, life, love, and light, and bathe in it.
That’s what I did. I went upstairs, heart still hammering, and played Words with Friends—essentially online Scrabble with friends and acquaintances, and I scored a 36-point word, which made me inordinately happy. This was my way back to the joy of language and the infinite possibilities held in each letter. It was my way of putting aside the invisibility of being a dismissed parent and tapping into a community built around simple joys.
I have not always been good at setting and sticking to my boundaries. For me, part of growing up and maturing into a healthy, non-toxic form of masculinity has been first doing the deep, self-excavating work of learning my boundaries, and, second, drawing bright lines that I resolutely, but respectfully hold firm.
My process of self-improvement has been painful yet also illuminating and freeing. In my experience, some people are looking for a doormat. In those moments the only thing that will do is direct, clear communication, letting them know you are not the laying down kind of person.
Have you ever had to fight to be heard? How did you handle it?
Share your story in the comments—it might be exactly what someone else needs to read today.
As always, I will leave you with a saying from my birthplace.
The strength of a crocodile is in the water.
May you be strong where you are. As you swim through the roiling currents of life, may you hold firm to your boundaries with the strength of a crocodile.
Until we meet again under the proverbial palm tree.
In solidarity,
Olu
"Some people are looking for a doormat. In those moments, the only thing that will do is direct, clear communication, letting them know you are not the laying-down kind of person."
This quote struck a chord with me. It's so true that we teach people how to treat us by what we allow. Your words remind me of the importance of assertiveness and self-respect. It's not always easy to stand up for ourselves, but it's essential for healthy relationships and personal well-being.
Understanding why another acts the way they do is key. Certain people -especially relatives- dismiss another’s boundary or belief because they think they are right… It is a lifelong lesson to learn how to respond. I have a mother who doesn’t understand boundaries- it is part of the complex of reasons why I didn’t have children… I didn’t want to deal with her - although I have had to deal with her lack of boundaries in other ways. I applaud you for keeping it cool and not just throwing your relative out of your house!