Ever since I left clinical practice, several people—particularly teenagers and those in their early twenties—have approached me and shared their stories and troubles with me. Something about my experience of being in a profession I did not like because of societal pressures and then deciding to quit to pursue my passion seemed to resonate with them.
Listening to their stories, I’d sometimes lose track of time. What might have started as a conversation, intended to take just a few moments of my time, would draw on for hours. One such conversation lasted over 12 hours! During these conversations, I would be likely to skip meals, postpone drinking water, forget to change my posture or even take bathroom breaks. By the end of the day, I’d feel exhausted with a throbbing migraine.
So, when one of my mentors suggested I get into counselling and coaching people, I shrank from it. After explaining my experiences of listening to people and how it tended to affect me emotionally and physically, I said, “I will lose myself if I do.”
She replied, “Anyone in that situation would lose themselves unless they build boundaries.” She then advised me to think about my boundaries and to be deliberate about setting them.
That was the first time I heard the word, ‘boundary’ used in that manner, and I hadn’t a clue what it meant in that context. Since then, I’ve noticed that word used in the setting of professionalism, of time management and of personal relationships. And recently, the word has become extremely common on social media posts and self-help content. But what are boundaries? Why are they important? And how do they help us heal?
A boundary evokes the image of a perimeter—for instance, a fence around a field. A fence in the middle of nowhere makes little sense. In a way, it is the piece of land a fence surrounds that gives purpose and meaning to a boundary.
So it is with us. Our boundaries are defined by who we are—our personhood (whether physical, emotional, psychological or spiritual). In these contexts, a boundary can be thought of as being around a person. For instance, our skin is a physical boundary that defines the edges of our body.
However, our boundaries, like fences, can be breached or broken into. When this happens, we may feel distressed. Eric Cassell defines suffering from this perspective. He writes, “Suffering can be defined as the state of severe distress associated with events that threaten the intactness of person.”
In fact, in Cassell’s definition, it is not necessary that injury occurs. A perceived danger to a person’s intactness may be sufficient to cause suffering. Further, when we think of suffering, we may imagine a significant injury. However, suffering can occur from almost any violation or threat, no matter how minor, to the intactness of a person. For example, a wasp’s sting, though tiny, can cause intense suffering. But how do we understand “intactness”?
Have you ever dropped your phone? When you pick it up, isn’t there an urge to check if it is damaged? I drop my phone a lot. When I pick it up and check it, if by chance the screen is not cracked and the phone functions alright, I think to myself, “Thank God! It’s still in one piece.” The phone is still intact. It is still whole.
While today I drop phones, there was a time when I myself would fall off bicycles, walls, and tree branches. On those occasions, my instinct would be to check my knees and elbows and any other areas of soreness. If there were any spots of blood or if I was in significant pain, I’d consider myself hurt and go home to cry to my mother and have my wounds tended. If my skin was unbreeched, and there wasn’t too much pain, I’d go on playing because I knew I was alright, all in one piece. When I think of intactness, one of the things I picture is the boundary—my skin or, in the case of the cell phone, the screen and indeed whether it works or not.
In the case of a living being, for example, a girl who falls from a bicycle and skins her knee, the body would immediately try to begin to mend itself. And the very start of the healing process is to construct a wall of tissue that functions as the temporary skin.
As soon as an injury occurs, tiny blood vessels contract and release biochemicals that attract scores of cell fragments called ‘platelets’ to form an interim wall. Because of this process, the bleeding—provided the injury is small enough—will stop. The plug that forms will prevent the loss of valuable resources from within the body while also protecting the body from germs and substances that exist in the environment outside. Later, as the wound continues to heal, the body will try to build a scab. Eventually, the body will try to form a scar to replace the skin that was originally lost.
Boundaries—including the platelet plug, the scab and the scar—are important in the physical wound-healing process because they restore intactness that may have been lost and protect the body from further harm while enabling continued healing.
These are useful things to keep in mind as we consider that each of us has many facets, including a body, a mind, a transcendent dimension, a past, a future, lived experiences, a place within family and society, a cultural context, roles and identities within that context, political ideologies, behaviours, habits and secrets. This is not an exhaustive list, but one that offers a glimpse into the complexity of individuals.
In examples, such as a fence, skin or the screen of a cell phone, the boundaries are visible. But boundaries in other facets of a person may not be apparent. Nevertheless, boundaries exist in each of these domains.
For example, we don’t share everything we think. There is a filter of sorts within us that acts as a boundary between our internal dialogue and the external world. Likewise, when we change the topic of conversation if there is threat of a potential conflict, we maybe building a boundary. With respect to our past, our minds sometimes erect walls of defence to block or forget events that have happened and are too painful to recollect.
The boundary could be around our personal space. When someone gets too close to us, breathing down our necks, our instinct to move away or ask for space could be an attempt to reestablish our boundaries. Likewise, the child who rebels against her parents maybe creating a boundary with her family members to separate her identity from theirs, rediscover her individuality and express herself.
Just as each domain has its own boundaries, each one is also vulnerable to threats. And irrespective of which aspect of our personhood feels threatened, we may suffer. For instance, people may suffer when their political or religious beliefs are questioned just as they may suffer when they lose a job. They may suffer when their roles within their families or communities are uncertain, when someone dear to them dies, when things change in their environment, when their past torments them, when their future riddles them with anxiety, when their routines are disturbed, or when their private lives are exposed to the public eye.
In the context of the healing person, boundaries—including temporary ones—affirm the distinctiveness of the individual, protect personhood and create a space of safety within which one can grow and heal. When healing, we feel the loss of intactness and know that there is a need to build boundaries. But how do we do it?
One friend of mine isolated himself in the walls of his home as he recovered from the loss of his wife. He didn’t cut himself off from the people who cared about him. His children and friends could still reach and speak to him. However, he created a haven at home where he could feel his emotions in safety, free from judgment.
By contrast, another friend built a boundary which included members of her community. She explained that when she was hurting and raw, when her thoughts were taunting her, her community stood around her, encouraging her and offering hope.
Their stories helped me understand that there may not be one way to build boundaries. Once I began to comprehend that boundaries can look different for different people in different situations, I too started creating them carefully.
With regard to my mentor’s advice to try being a counsellor or coach, I chose not to follow that path professionally. But, when I do speak to people and listen to their stories, I am more protective of my time and health. Recently, I’ve also begun to notice and label the emotions that I absorb while empathising with others. So, when I leave the conversation, I’ve learnt to build a boundary between the thoughts, realities and emotions of the speaker as distinct from those that are mine. This allows me to engage with people meaningfully without being overwhelmed or enshrouded by what I hear.
If you are like me, you may have recognised an aspect of your life where you have actually lost, or where you feel you may lose, your sense of personhood. If you were to take my mentor’s advice to think about your boundaries and to be deliberate about setting them, I wonder: what would you do differently?
